by Erica Goss

What desires us most
enters through the mouth:
consider breath, with its
vital repetitions; and if

the esophagus is the top
of a volcano that explains
the ash clinging like
spittle to my lips but

what of blood in the throat
the bitten tongue how
the skull erupts
from flesh in neat rows

as if to say, don’t forget
I’m in here, I define
what it means
to be human.