The teeth of your black ditch are sweet like the rest
Of the thin-lipped, sharp-hipped
Fierce things that animals show
White like the laughter of smoke in the chest
Long after
The brightness of the fields' teeth go
The child-mother yells in vi'lent madness
But your tight skin confessed not a vein in your chest
And the way that your breast did hang low
Animals need animals before the winter comes
The metal air swarms across those plains
My long-necked, freckle-specked, heavy-chested, trust-invested sows her
breath into my chest and hums
Now what kind of county line
Holds her remains
Your grey frame in winter is delicately hued
The eyes are so wearisome
The greens have all blued
And what could it mean
That they once were so green
And now they're just starving for food
And I am hungry too
For you
©2008 Matthew Milia