...and you will not go.

My jaw hangs open, tongue inviting.

It is warm, soft here; I am wet velvet,

there is no need for teeth.

What sticks in others' throats, I swallow.

I am not the one who poisoned you

in the metallic courtyard, and I do not know

what you may not have done. 

I am not your future - 

that has gone.

I am a vehicle, your carriage,

and I stand here ready, waiting

for the weight of you

to become a jelly of fat and skin

and rendered bonelessness, 

hot as blood under my ribs.

I do not need to promise:

It will be over soon.

A gut distended,

an end fulfilled.