to finally clutch it--
tongue-lap it--
slowly suckle the sweat.
her helpers warbled out their thin utterances,
beasts calling to the sun.
they let their waxen wings sizzle aloud,
longing for that final fall into the sea and the encompassing bliss--
salt filling their cavities,
eating away the dead skin
to trail tiny halide crystals.
only shining molds would remain,
floating fleshlessly in the waves
leaving her to navigate her breaths.
she saw that the tree was good,
so she took the fruit and thereof did eat.
the walrus had warned her of
babies falling from the sky,
their feathers mixing with the casts.
and while her bed cradled the struggling trio,
the oysters remained in theirs,
refusing to walk the dual sands.
they knew their use.
they knew her needs.
fingers dancing from the wrong hand
she pieced their sighs together,
suddenly silenced by the heavy stillness
of hideous, perfect guilt.
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