head mead

i want to shake you til your teeth rattle
clacking in your head like an ancient game of knucklebones
and your skull all dry and hollow
yew tree wood.

it's filled with stuffy nothingness,
plumes of void
i pour it full of mouth-honey
wadded and sopping.

it sinks to the bottom, congeals in sticky lunks,
rots into mead, ferments into fizz
let's open it up in a year,
you'll share what you have in there,
i'll swallow it out of a mason jar.