THE SLEEP DIET
Like Beauty, she pricks herself,
Taking sedatives in the vein.
Whole days disappear. Always,
She rises to the mirror,
Remembering the distance
The drab adjectives travel.
Lettuce and celery
And the memory of bread.
She stills the teeth that need
To tear through meat; she holds
Her sugar-loving tongue.
Is a size, a smaller
Circling of the waist and thighs.
A month, her husband says,
Promising his kiss
When she is perfect. So long
He hasn’t touched her he will
Excite her like a stranger.
She dreams the brilliant alarm
Of his body, how she wakes
When he enters her,
How, afterward, he slips
Chocolate between her lips.
The way it lessens her.
Lying down is time travel,
Retreating until she
Retrieves her childish shape,
Her princess body.
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