You could have used a comb

To collect the stranded lice,

Instead you used your tongue.

You could have used a blade

To separate rot from flesh,

Instead you used your teeth.
You take me in like water,

I flutter, as your grip becomes tighter.

You give me time to get denser, heavier.

Heavy enough to bring down this boat,

This waiting station,

This age of men and flies.


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