Slug

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.

by Hannah Smith

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