Maya Trest, “The Love of a Raven Dove”
2 insatiable bellies of bile,
4 hunger-driven wings and
1 anomalous brain.
these are my tools of Creation.
i find the fragrance of rot overcomes
the sweetness of any flower.
its stale syrup coils ‘round taste buds,
waters eyes and prods at reflexes.
and that reaction is what makes it beautiful.
it’s funny how we adapted to our circumstances.
when posed with famine, we turned to each other,
feasted on the rot of our brothers,
no sooner than we’d torn from the loins,
out our mothers.
i’ve been told time and time again to not meddle with appetite.
but i have a craving for Creation,
and i’ll Create just to spite
the bulbous bodies of the world’s favorite near extinction
and against the laws of nature,
the laws i’ve deemed restriction.