Ten days,
the bitter
taste of poison
languidly rested
upon my
swollen tongue;
writhing,
until I spat her out.
She lay there,
legs spread,
naked;
her golden skin
licked wet
by the evening sun.
The moon rose,
and blossomed
full tonight.
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Comments1
Did the moon's rising and blossoming take place because you spat out your poison, or rather it rose and enabled/empowered you to spit out your poison?
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