Sunday, April 29, 2012

Amanita Muscaria

Amanita m.

Had I been a doe,
a reindoe,

I might have been whispered to, 
kissed, doted upon
by you,
Trojgaard,

without having become

so very sick.

Soft amanita,
I could not resist,
I was so hungry,
so desirous,

my teeth sharp against my tongue
twinged for your flesh,

the roiling wave of your truth so

shaky, poisonous.

And while I torque with yearning
for the gap in your bite

and listen to the hiss of the wind
for your lisp

I am weak, sweating
curled nauseous

newly born and anemic,
bruised from pelvis to heels,

freed to writhe

against daylight.

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