Birthday Filth

I've wandered into
one of those salty days
in which i sink
my melted, tired flank
into a decayed mattress
for seconds, minutes, hours, years
culturing my epicurian filth

wincing
here and there
in response
to my sour,

a delicious, juicy sour
curled up in the shallow morning breath
come in from the moldy window
and then
unfurled by a fuzzy tongue,
invisible and born
out from the wormy, chicken pecked garden

the perfume is mixing
like oil and water
with the sight of my overgrown toenails
mmm
and now for the punch
i open my mouth wide
to inhale,
reshut the trap,
and leave my snaggled incisor
hanging over her flaked, red bed