Quiet [creation Myth #15] - Poem by Simon Huggins
now your brother is near -
It would be to him
an amalgam of all his years of suffering
to sense me here.
your excitable fumblings -
my smell is tempering
waiting until your own humours excrete then
the life-sac tied.
such consideration aside.
She feels the spray.
Your brother is here - my brothers inside.
Warmly this passage subsides...
The realisation jumps
electrodes alive - door ajar -
Your brother reveals your drip of slime
and smells desire.
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