petite dejeuner

swallow all my letters whole,

eat or drink them into your embodied fold

while my signature rehearses its own disappearance,

each line dripping an edible archive, plated into question

and waiting to be bit by the promise of a future-present, taken in

and passed along just like the sticky drag of jam across croissants

"The question of the archive is not a question of the
past. It is not the question of a concept dealing with
the past that might already be at our disposal,
an archivable concept of the archive. It is the question
of response, of a promise and a responsibility for tomorrow..." (Derrida)