Poetry, Kiva
at the dinner table last night you found me
sucking on a dry, white bone.
tonguing the cracks
blood and saliva turned
the stark white grayish-red
desperate for the dregs,
licking like an animal,
you offer me a bowl of nuts and seeds.
come outside, you say.
let it go, there is no marrow left.
i follow you.
because you are beautiful
and safe
and sometimes when i cough,
my lungs full of drifting, fetid dust,
you put a cloth over my nose
and tell me it will all be over.
someone very far away,
another me,
maybe,
made a pie,
and set it on the windowsill.
it smells sweet, like rot.
and i float
through the conscious void,
with its drifting, fetid dust,
towards that sweet smell.
i hunger.
i decay.
like an animal.
you aren't home;
i've left our door unlocked.
Kiva is a writer, artist, and perpetual learner. Find them at @its-kiva on Instagram to say hello, if you like their work.