My wedding cake skin divides into nearly equal slices,

Adorned in strawberry raiments and sweetheart thoughts,
Somehow bittersweet and sickly sugared.
 
I have yet again been a nail,
Hammered haphazard and half rusted,
Arrayed in wormbit wood,
A secret language on the tip of the tongue,
But unspeakable by prilingual origins,
Like a cave wall adorned in ochres, ash and animal blood.
A choked back missive,
Half sigh, half prayer.