The night sweats away into the day, blackness running down
the west side of the sky.
We wake with the light and clothe in fabric
that sticks to damp skin and chafes still tender
arms and legs.
Westward, the night is dying, bathed in yellow heat.
Morning flushes warm and hazy, coltish on its legs.
Perspiration still clings to grass
and baptizes naked feet as we move past.
We are seeking the young hearts and lungs of the earth,
vibrant, blood-dark, and ready. Sharp in scent and
delicate to the tongue. Touch them.
Taste them.
A gentle killing; reverent caress,
preformed with crooked curtsies and twisting hands.
I'll carry you to my mouth, sweet one, small one.
Pitted, seeded, smooth and *****.
Forsake for me your manger-bed, a sweet cradle,
but I know sweeter.
My touch destroys, creates, transforms.
Quiet electricity, precious greasy energy.
Come apart beneath my teeth. Collapse. I worship you.
Come to me.
Come to me.