Updated: Sep 2
When the earth was cursed
(For Man’s sake)
Her bounty shriveled to thorns and thistles,
The bed made we must sleep in.
Pestel in hand we
Grind the pricks in our sides with a tender groan,
Dull them slick and gritty
To drip palatable and hot down our ribs and
Season the stinging flesh.
Sweet salt on the tongue. Bitter in our guts.
But that never stopped us.
We twist tighter
And, by the salty sweat of our brow
Flowing down our lushes, tortured skin,
Tangle up in all this, silken sin.
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