let’s flay it open:       find the tea
in tear              and moan         in lemon
the obsession in         the one               obsessed
with sectioning the body          into inside and
the “wordless         thing”    that covers it 

—derma    casing   cutis   hull   shell   parch-
ment   vellum   peel   film   fell—
let’s ask   how different            this severing
and fall:       the flesh of man    and fruit
in muted color     in    a teacup     full
of bathwater and salt     and what mistakes
as memory:       a stranger’s       hands
holding my legs            together:   
a lemon            wedged into my gums 
as acid sponge              absorbing all
that wild and childhood           screaming 

let’s forget        that this      fixed nothing:
that the bitter       porous rind     was skin
and always mine           that brewed
too long    tea curdles      on the tongue
that lemons      are less   fruit
than failed or failing      memory:
those skinless       strangers       inside
cup-fulls of tears        steeped down
                                                          to tea