Words, for her, are

    breakable porcelain and the vibrations of air.

    There are always lies everywhere

    placed directly before her next step.

    Everything is smashed in crystal observation

    for her rapid and perched intellect.

    She begins to boil down the unnecessary fat of the lie

    to reach the nub of insincerity.

    The lie will be good and sweet on her tongue,

    like the moment of opening a letter,

    like the dog bringing the stick to its owner.