Love is an Entomologist

it decides
to dissect​
and inspect
you inside
like an insect
its interest a
pin though
your abdomen
and into
its stark
white
board

around you
regular
columns
rows
of other twitching
insect bodies
honey-combed
by compound vision
some dead
all skewered
six legs
or fewer

a rattling
cacophony of
rasping clicks
a metallic
mass-gallows
of fat sallow
bad-blood-sick
love-filled ticks
unable to muster
the will to rupture

amid the grid
of pulsing nausea
you’re only aware
of your own
of the oozing hole
that holds you in place
exposes your viscera
to its inquisitive gaze
brittle layers of
chitinous
bitterness flayed
wounds of want
and self-pity displayed
layers of defensive
constructs arrayed
labeled
on tables

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