Peaches
Mostly, I am a sponge.
A sack of bones, collected, sharply prodding,
Held together by this spongy mass of muscle and tissue;
Viscera.
I am a breathing spore
[sponge]
Respirating
[sponge]
Growing
[sponge]
Absorbing
Wet and crackling, I expand and contract.
What will be my physical story, told?
Multiply, grow
Disease, decay
Deceased, desist.
Leaves Break down;
First,
The webbing between,
Then the rest.
“Time claims all.” And all become soil;
Earth.
And I see it in my veins
In the patterned wrinkles of my skin
That I am the same as
[all of it]
An avocado,
A peach,
A growth.
A mass of veined, fleshy tissue.
I, too.
And like attracts like
So I mush together;
Teeth scrape pit.
Flesh presses, mashes flesh.
Your fuzzy peach skin,
Thin and tender;
Now torn to pieces.
FORCED
Through pink undulating
Squish.
Down
Down
Down
I swallow you up.
Drop into my pit of acid.
Now we are one.
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