I am a mouth,
a wet mouth, moving
slow suctions
of stiff leaves
into my myriad teeth,
eating
green till the bared veins
stand out,
quiver, brittle,
and, tensed, snap.
I am both he and she
one slippery
muscle, the pulse
of absolute darkness,
mouthing my eggs
upon decay,
and, humped, sliming
wet silver
at every surge.
I ripple, glisten
black, stroking
the prone surface
into my hunger,
each caress
heart’s need and ruin,
every thrust
a slow comment
on love and love.
Robin Skelton
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/slug/
