…from a muffled dirge where roots are caught
how do you know, you are not bled dripping
from withered peel, tongue filled with foam
with fingers in freehand, an incision of “Y”
by the throat, gift wrapped in worms of pine
humming in the soil with sod over your head
in verses of Neptune’s flesh, for an epitaph…
Rated for Teens(13+)
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hello dearest Adagio very darkly intriguing 💕
Thank you, Brenda.