A Most Pleasant Taste

an executioner
was burned at the stake
at 3:59 am.
“make a few coffins
later for her legs,”
his last words

to be etched on a marker

a funeral pushes into me
with advanced skills
she. is. ...composed ...totally of cellulose
i am. historically ...a soil’s path

gaping wide muscle systems
singing gently because
of shame. they’re

baked by a sharp, stinging force.
that requires the animals
to dance.

seen from above
it’s shuddering

seen from below
it’s laughing

"can you talk?" she whispered

wait to kiss her in ten years.

“it’s my throat.”

an ideal for caskets
existing in the image
eliminates the need
for the exact time.

combining of ingredients ends,
juicing, dehydration, sprouting,

laying open
foliage sprouted
through clotted blood
as predicted.

an executioner
was burned at the stake
at 3:59 am.

I gasped at a tree branch
I grasped at an inscription
I moved to kiss her
she understood my direction.

I felt and
I embraced her as
a metal flowery grid.

she pressed in close
wishing to distance myself by items
being seduced by
her evolved tastes

“bitterness is a dinner."
 she moved. "leave now.
we’ll pollute the night air."

--Angel Ferox

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