Another body but a corse
to rip open, to love despite
the unsought eyesore, yet
it reeks of the past
Now you level with it,
you want to understand
Death likes to talk
and a child likes to listen
Sinless but with a sable want:
an ego to feed every night
She grew up, now with
a lover, now with a living
hubris, now with a missing
eye, now all so telling
Now she rubs her nose of the smell
of her own corse, no other
But still with two ears
But still with a friend who talks
like a lover
