Friday, 12 February 2021


into a place where

long worn grooves of

deep body habit

flourish in the dirt

making mud pies in

a hot back yard

the taste is bitter.

hugging the ugly of

the deep body

its sweat and grease

and pungency its

freely unwashed

hair and legs of fur

its old Lilith.

tongue mouths

this will and what not

yet deep body habit

is worn so easily

and biologically

words are small.

Poem: Marie Craven, 25 January 2017

Photo: Brad Helmink, Unsplash