n these tired tracks and deeper,
Farther and farther down the needlepoint pathway,
Submission to the snake-fang-slits
Gouged into the soft meat of my shoulders,
Fingers lax at my side,
Ignoring the bite
Of the dagger
In my side.
Not wanting nor
Hoping to pull it free,
To twist it from its hollow
Nestling deeper and deeper,
Like sand in the crevices of your
Body, like sunshine to the ending
Of night, like the sweetest candy that
Turns to bitter wax in your throat.