"What are you doing?" I say,
and Kristen grins like the Cheshire Cat
after one-too-many beers, peeling the skin off her marshmallow
like the skin from a grape.
It falls away in a flaky spiral as if departing from
the body of a reptile.
A moment suspends the sugary screen
above her mouth, its transparent sides
housing the silhouettes of flame.
My eyes rest on her fingers as they pinch
the crispy shell between thumb/index,
and Kristen smiles menacingly.
"I like it better this way," she tells me,
and crunches while lowering the fleshy, naked puff
back into the fire for another round of burning.
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