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give up the dust

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,


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.


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