Window in the body

The leech. He mutters.
He whines at the gulp
he gulps from me—you—
the buckets of thrashing blue
dark on the intake—his steak
is my heart—my dome-like abdomen—
he is a nibbling better than yours—
he takes—gives—like vultures
shitting on their heat—my meat
quenches how still water does—quit—
quit your watching—spit—I need
only the husband-wife of my turn—
my turn—your ally to my axis—
I turn on the axis—we mix alloys—
a boy leech, do you know him?—
but the pause—the pause of touch—
have you roused like the young dog?—
have you paused?—have you rushed?—
in the electric clouds—cirrus my head—
dead where only the bodies able tread?—
where ants gallop and horses slither—
where a leech goes unfed—

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~ by Jeremy on May 17, 2011.

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