...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.