I belong under the sea. Hiding in my sunburnt, acned socket – warts and all. A brittle, pocked-pink leather Cyclops. Lurking. Crack me. I am jelly-fleshed. A scallop of an eyeball, pulped. All anaemic aqueous humour, scooped. Vitreous and vitriolic. I’m watching you.
A tone of voice
The CCTV of the fruit bowl. (LycheeTeeVee.)
Slippery, sinister, sweet. But sour.