I could see the wrinkles in his skin;
where it would dip in, cave in,
eventually sink. and I would fall
in love with leather.
but I don’t eat red meat.
Pulled tight as wax with rivers
of plum dehydrated blood, hands
and tree root knuckles; I
could see him rotting happily
away.
and I would fall complacently
into old age and atrophy.

17/Dec/2008 17:35