Worms.

!ALTERNATIVE TITLE?
The Way in Which Sex Becomes Neither HERE nor THERE.


It’s not something that I felt,
Rather,
I just vomited it out
One day,
All over
Your
Lap.

I was terribly
Apologetic,
And you were awfully
Sweet.

And here I was,
Saying Nothing words
In a Nothing chorus
OF EVERYTHING
That you felt

Which somehow had
Made its sweet way
Into my head,
Like some macabre
Little worm.

Isn’t it rather fitting,
Then,
That those worms
Would munch on the
Edge of your face in my mind

Once you’d left?

And I swear to you
That not I have- not anyone has-
Touched where you liked to touch.
I’ve been too busy catching the worms.