oh yes, i know what you’re thinking, but the poems you find in this book won’t immortalize you. these poems are the means by which you will finally become dead to me—licked clean from my insides like the last dollop of honey at the very bottom of the pot. everyone will finally learn what you did to me all those years ago, but none of them will ever be able to scrape the bitter taste your name leaves on my tongue . . . now will they, ? - this is your unmarked grave.
