the frying pan is hot as shit we smell old oil burning
on it. caked crackled skin of something best eaten
smoldering, hot as shit. it’s a palm coaxing wide
open eyes past pain senor surface perfect type of
way. a grid of hot metal support push to skin, flick
down onto inner heel rigid. singe. juice. the oven
door is flapping and broken and open and hot too.
do you want it grazing your ass do I want it under
my chin staring into the oven belly blind from behind
and close to smoking. knees to linoleum knees to
red and yellow tile crumbs knees pressed to the
bone straining to support. waist basket at chest
height ridges to whined fingers through hold head
over to lean in slickly. back to pan and close to
touch and bubble up the threat of it. invitation also
consumption also just getting close. back your ass
up onto stove lip, ballerina the oven door squirm
towards n from heat in a needy little dance. hold
head over pan just a little from pain but let hair
spillover singe on open flame open mouth drooling
to extinguish to steam to jump on top hot pan tight
to burning open.