If life was made out of jaffa cake
I'd break off my left hand and give it to you
bleeding profusely
liquid orange jelly
dripping onto a white plate.

If life was made out of jaffa cake
I'd pull off strands of my hair
like the long strips of black liquorice of our childhoods
but in chocolate and orange with a thin vein of biscuit sponge.

If life was made out of jaffa cake
I'd walk through flames
and melt into a large white bowl
and with the force of my will
I would leave myself
on your window sill
to solidify and chill
and wait for you to consume me.

And if life was made out of jaffa cake
particles of me
would reside
in your belly
and others would gently curl
round your eyeballs
and the textures of your fingertips
and the roof of your mouth
and the surface of your tongue
and your memory.

So that you woke up at nights
smiling
as if roused
from a
beautiful
dream.


---Jib, 9.06 am, 20 Feb 03