It is an organic thing
Like damp soil
Like vegetable scraps upon a compost
A heady cloying warmth
I press my hands against it
And it molds around my fingers
It grows
Rich and
Earthy dark
Like chocolate, like mud
It ferments
And fantastic things happen
Like pumpkin tendrils
It is procreant
And fertile
Just add liquid
The sweet sap of our thighs
heaving sighs
And it grows
rampant and unruly
It is an organic thing.
It is a wild thing.
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