Just Marvel The Nature Poem by Mark Heathcote

Cow-down with a belly of machine-churned mud
be as the blowflies in a dead dog's rancid gore
virginity is a cosmetic window-dressed whore.
Awaiting arrow-headed demons in cold blood,
cold love, lust hungry: hear-her-hearts outpour
out on a limb on a cusp of a buttercup, rotted.
Be as the centipede under her silver birch skin
snake in the long grass for her white mouse moons
breastbones to breastbone feel no funerals sin
just marvel in nature your-lust-looms-in.