Lily Trotta

you would eat me neat
like an italian,
your fork spiraling
my spaghetti head
into spoon
with no blood to shed,
no sauce
on white linen

or you would undo me
by the middle-
parted tangle, a sweater loosed
by a flyaway thread
& i would unravel
on the tabletop,
a skein
of blue fettuccine
too thick to spin —

i would send sauce flying
like grated parmesan,
& leave you
weaving steel wool into silverware,
shaving layers from your teeth.

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Lily Trotta is an NYU graduate raised in Connecticut, but give her a break, okay? When not writing, she makes cookie dough, overshares, and tries to hold it together in public. Her writing can be found in Peach Mag and Vagabond City, and her heart can be found on Twitter @lilytrotta.

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