Consumption: A Contrapuntal

Women launch
from the screen
like candy confetti.

99 pretties trigger your lonely worship.
Each one oblivious, well-loved
by your hungering gaze.

They catch in my
crow’s feet, stick
to my decolletage.

I follow your crumb trail and graze in secret.
Visualize eating their bits, imagine
that I might grow more pleasing parts.

The sweet and sticky orbs
of roundness clump together.
Their faces disappear.

I consider the cost to become
a two-dimensional version you desire.
Know that once consumed, I don’t exist.

My throat tightens
with the cellular recall of being
looked at and not seen.