flesh in your mouth,
it is mine,
gorging,
on my shoulder heart,
you grab,
me forcefully,
eating without intention,
the hollowness
of your gaze,
speaks only of
hunger, unending hunger,
your pregnant
moon belly,
saturated with
weight, hangs
flabbing, in your
deflating jerky
movements,
who created you?
was it me?
I look down at my chest,
where the hole of
your mouth, has
plunged a fist,
and I see it is pink,
and not black,
my hand in the slime
and clotted blue ink,
ripping out,
your entrails,
and feeding it
to your mouth,
where I swallow it,
because you need me too,
because it is in my nature,
because I can,
because when I taste you,
I see death,
the never ending,
falling up and into of
a darker midnight sky,
stars, wanderers, illuminating,
lanterns of light,
the familiarity of a path,
I once knew,
and my heart,
aches, like you,
to go home.
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