Sickness

With my righthand I swirl pools of darkness, I can assure you it’s warm and contains pieces of pigs feet. They’re still warm from marching out of your throat and stopping beside my fingertips.

I pick one up and toss it to Crow, he devours it with a few swift pecks. Thank you.

Light from your television, gives us vision to this thick consistency, the smell is disgusting. Still, with my right hand, I squish chunks of pineapple and throw them into the air. Crow hops to the left, his tiny feet making even ripples in your mess.

SPLAT! The chunk lands right in front of him. He fluffs out his feathers, and I notice specks of your vomit on his left-wing.

Crow motions to me by looking down at the now reddened piece of pineapple. I swish my hands around and around, spelling out the following:

     I AM YOUR F

Crow crows, I snatch up the scarlet reward and bite into it.          

I can assure you, it tastes as if I bought a plastic-wrapped fruit pot from, well you know, a place where you purchase nice fruit pots from.

Crow hops on my thighs and rubs his head against my stomach. It’s his way of expressing his love for our friendship.

I take my right hand and the bloodied sick drips onto my thigh before I stroke Crow. I swear to you this little bird knows how to purr.