Inlaid

The cycles of decay and rebirth,

their larvae inlaid on my pulse.

I’d laugh,

but I cut the cord instead.

Where did summer go?

Translate the stone runes

to fit their own narrative.

Our womb stays empty,

they eat the insects.

Tunnel their webs

stuffed down my throat

I hold the fine powder dust in my lungs,

blue puya germinate

on its tender flesh.

“Please.”

Turns to beheading.

I stack the dried skulls.

I can’t ingest anymore silk.