married worms wrap roots, curdle soil,
suckle miasma, live to forget how to love.
Our disposal gurgles swallowed wedding rings.
Claws still grow to grab hands, rip ripe skin.
Bright with blight, poison became becoming
enjoying septic soil, living off fruits of rocks
we grew for pleasures of sugar-eaten teeth,
Our uneaten oranges decay in colors--
shades of day old wings of flies.
Sweetness was first to be left behind.
No note, either. Don’t worry, eat.
Beloved, they’re not poison. Eat!
Roaches, don’t worry, rarely will I clean house.