Honey Sticks Between My Palms

Am I a man, or am I a frog?

Between one and the other.

Easy to love but hard to hold.

Too easy to want to turn and too difficult to turn away.

Feel the bubbling worms sticking to my shoulders, pulling backwards the flap of skin left unattended.

Hear my jaw shifting, the green dye stripping the rust from human form.

Spill paint quickly & hold the dripping brush.

Want to fold my root-like strength over skin.

Honey sticks between my palms.

Stomping in laughter, that intimate growl,
How you pulse and slide through my straw.

Pick at your skin, thinking about turning once more. Twisting away hard, willing your being to survive that backward look.

Does it want to belong to me?

Come across lines of ants and other organizations, falling asleep still despite needing a meal.

They don't understand, but I stare.

Breath in burns, wheezing through your sinuses, regurgitate a cough, smooth quiet skin, spit.

Tear each cell apart with poisonous tendrils, collapse the dust of life for sucking mouths.

Starve worms to protect dirt.

Shall I join them next?