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how
I yearn
to stretch my limbs
to the rhythm of
the feast
plump worms are
having
on my head
there are noises
if I listen
the standing up of
hair
teeth sawing on
teeth
then
I let out a moan
I hear
seepings
in that hole
where I used to let
my finger taste
the moist of an
un-interrupted sex
where roaches are
feeling their way in
now
my armpits are
tight pressed
my legs pressed
tight together
white, under a
layer of worms
as I lay here in my
grave
I hear raindrops
green grass up
above
tiny shoots glitter
beyond tiny drops of water
ants scurry into
the hole
I yearn
to roam
on the surface
of my vulva
it’s a long wait
it’s a long wait
wind
whistles, teasing
fronds of long-lived trees
then, rushes into
the under
or maybe it is a
snake
I desire
to circle the neck
fail the tits
slip down below
face-first into the
hole
where I used to let
my finger taste the moist of an un-interrupted sex
or
maybe it is a
snake I desire
to slip
face-first into the
hole
where I used to let
my fingers taste
the moist
of an
un-interrupted sex
Such
Saghi Ghahraman
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