One at a time, I eat my words.
“Us” is the first to go, because that construct is gone, followed by “we.”
I wrap tiny little words and phrases together to hasten the process
Slurping down a facsimile that once carried moonlight on a beach
Sand between my toes, later in my hair
And hope and promises
My gut aches and twists but I don’t stop
I leave “you” for last, because when it is gone, there will be only one word left.