Trample me.
Shove your soles with mangled gum
looking like a maimed raisin
on me.
Then make me eat it.
I need one more
bite, talk, fuck, drink, smoke
to make things right
in the life that left me
years ago
when I opened myself
to you.
Without you
our world would have one less
anima.
Spare one more chunk
until our stew boils
and the vapor dissipates
leaving air, a raisin
and tepid broth.
The Bird's Song 