Eventually she burned them
from the inside out
roasting their vital organs
on a spit.
She was naturally methodical
so she turned the handle
slower than molasses.
However,
she chose to start
her malicious machinations
by first dealing with their fingers,
the villains of touch
which were caught reaching
for the soft hot pink spot
of her seemingly felicitous
fecund womb,
but they didn't care.
They anxiously and defiantly
stuck them in
as if they were oblivious
to the pain
of forgotten tomorrows.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem