— Digging Two Graves

Men with their soft whiskers and hard
I have contemplated splitting open
every man I have slept with
from mouth to hip. To find
myself within.
Instead I take his lips
and I become a worm, writing worm poetry
about love
digging myself deeper and deeper.
And together
we are a poem of sort.
The men I do not gut, and
the woman
who does not know when to stop
trying to find an opening to climb into.

He tried to cut her Words,
once. They became twice as numerous,
their power redoubled
they bore into him
no need for mercy
her Worm Words.

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