As we lay on the floor
of the dewey earth
I listen to you breathe
beside me, soft and angry
like the taste of meat

and it makes sense, I think
that your eyelids move
like small animals
are trapped beneath

with no where else to go,
they tremble,
nestled in your bones
while you sleep, soundly
scattering along the walls of
your stomach, their blood flowing
into your own.