What Eats You my Dear?

What eats you my dear?
This thing within you
which grows
more mysterious, solemn, angry,
it’s reduced you to a child.
And you remember a child’s
fear of death.
But in this afternoon light,
you look calmer.
We feel, in the stillness of
these hours, mired
in the trough of the day,
we could live forever.
Yet outside the
world bakes and crackles.
Something under the earth
grows too hot,
grows agitated,
wants to roll the earth
and toss us all from
his clammy back.
It eats you my dear
and this salty skin,
this pungent flesh
that intoxicated me,
now frightens me.
And stroking you,
I feel your insides,
fearful lumps under your skin,
like protruding epiphanies.
My dear, I feel you
splayed, cold, sanitized,
like an anatomy room specimen.

Copyright Ricky Barrow 2013

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