I frown at Ph for fabricating

my phonation, phlegming a phonic far off focus.

He frolics forearms folded with my flame, Z,

through peripheral fields of forsythia far out of focus.

His figure, fashioned familiar to a phallus

reflects the foul, fetid, filthy fusty face that has infested her focus.

A fictionalized fibrosarcomata fertilized fantastically

fighting to find my foot and fish for the focal of her focus.

My father festered, his philharmonic

funeral I found facetious. His faceless façade furnished a fossil in my focus.

I found a photo, our friction

the flavor of futility, like fudge, fixated by the phone, the olfactory of focus.

He a furuncle, let him fracture from my focus.

But Ph,

His phony phonics flatter flat phrases like

phthalocyanines and phenylketonuria with flair and unformidable focus.

His friends and fans fancy the flavor that flicks

off one’s frenulum as his phonations ferment and fondle inside the frocket of their focus.

For I, F,

fornicate and feast on fingers of flave to forget

my fervent and my fortunate,

my fatal fasciation, my fundamental focus.

PHOTOGRAPH BY RACHEL KISER