...(a sushi epiphany) I take you between my teeth and pods are your meat, hidden in a furry salt hammock.
I feel bad biting you, sliding out all of your secret worth from a seam in your side.
But you satisfy, and rest in a mound of sure shells, like piled smiles, certain of your tabletop purpose.
I think that if you could remove beads from me you’d have to go through my feet.
We must all be walking sheaths and some stay salted, soggy,
unshed. I would rather be secret than put back in the wrong bowl and tried again.