The Kiss Of Death Poem by Mark Heathcote

In the jaws of death
the anaconda and crocodile they're embraced
in a struggle for survival
they are both unromantically-entangled
there are no guarantees one will live
or the other will die.

Jaws are now firmly locked
there'll be no redeemer to save one or either.
I've seen one and then another win,
devoured without any transgression or sin,
I've seen both dead
where a meal, too big, broke out, a wall of skin.

Their jaws are ultimately locked
their bodies are anatomically entwined
but only one will eventually dine.
The clock is ticking, and one is slowly winning
which will it be, clearly, not-
the one we think is on top.

Its head is in the jaws of the croc
neither one is letting the other leave
a crushing-ultimate squeeze, the final blow,
the kiss of death rendered ever-so-slow,
a death nail that's suspended and superimposed
mummified alive in bandages, never letting go.