The Untold Stories

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Our flesh is hectic and heretic
Burning in the torch of our evolution
Our wombs are wild fruit
Ready to curve and churn and reap
Our fevers have not renounced
Our heart has not tasted lunch
I am the starved and curveless moon
I am skin and bone and loveless lessons
My body is a probe of dream
Ready to burst ribs and ejaculate
To sensually encapsulate descendents
And warm the wide waves of evermore
Our flesh is hot with snippets of sweat
Our blood is tainted and anorexic
Our hope is in the body, in the children
Primal like a tattoo of our youthful selves
These days are done, the drums have gone
Our breasts are shrived like the autumn leaves
And our past pain lies now in our hips
The hips we will break one careless evening
And we won’t grow up then, we will
Die in a hospital in the forked dark.

6 thoughts on “The Untold Stories

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