Dung Beetle

He touched the hem of her skirt She burrowed hermit crab-like, rattling Don't don't—I'll hurt you, where it hurts? "Manhood's a sensuous thing, a clay pipe … She can smoke it, He thought in his very simple insect mind. But please don't castrate it, don't break it". He touched the hem of her skirt once more Her knees knocked, but parted outward, then back in? Don't demons either require legs to walk? Or bellies to crawl And sonar, wings like bats to steer Don't they need both a stomach and a mouth? To defecate to sprout out their troubles. Don't they need keen eyes to search out those innards? And find me; Your secret blind spot scratched and itched He touched the hem of her skirt once more And then she scampers dung beetle-like, Dragging his sorry carcass his body She said nutrition is a word But what I need is dirtier, more substance I need the flesh of your bones The morrow of your existence Splurged across my own Before, I, we both decompose.