by Allison Dunlap
The crusted lust of starving eyes
Slices through the gentle soul,
Eats away her innocence,
And dices up her would-be pride.
The thickíning crust collects
And cakes like year-old mold
Inside her dying dreams.
It slakes its icy gaze
With her naÔve nectar,
Turns her fruit to steak,
And with Viking haste,
Rusts her love to waste.
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