He bites
Where there is no meat
Only bone
And sweat
And fat
That sucks a voice
Into it
Saying
There is a rock
That does not roll
For there is no hill
Just land that flattens
All into a square
Then a line
Then a dot
So small
That it can’t have said to be there
But it is
For a while at least.
The voice quiets as he
Chews on my breast,
Mouthing wishes of never growing old
And running faster than before
So that no one can catch him
Not even himself
And he hems and haws
And dashes past all things
Until he finds my chest
Opens it with his fingers
Toys around with buttons
And finds barren
Whiteness upon whiteness upon whiteness.
He lays down
Imprints a snow angel.
Divine.
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