Monday, October 20, 2008

Envious breath rolling down your tongue,
Slick, slippery, wet flesh.
Where will you go
Where birds will not shred
Your precious, taut, living skin?

They will see the worms
That live in your bowels.
That slither and twist blindly
Around your eye sockets.

They are flailing through muscle.
They are sliding down bone.

The pretty leaves have fallen
At your feet.
And beady eyes are hungry eyes
That perch near.

Where will you go
Where you will not, my love,
Be eaten alive?


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