The father died and then the mother died.
And you were so addicted
to not feeling them, you told no one about the clamp
around the vena cava. Dam against the blood's
But I've got you now. Trussed at the waist
in a wooden chair,
odor of spice and
oranges, clove-pierced, incandescent stores
to light our lab's decor—
Here. I saved this just for you.
Beetle-cleaned and sharp at the tip, the finger that shook
in your set face
from the hand that smoothed your hair—
Make a fist.
Wrap the tube round your fleshy arm, pull the black rubber
will we finally
see the sludge of their accumulated mouths, ah, you've said,
how they poisoned me...
with your mother's finger-bone, taste the slow up-well—
Sweet. Surge ambrosial and clear—
A honey, an ichor.
From those who waited long
in your veins.