I am Saturn's wife and child.
I am adoration, the devoration
of self, sixty-two orbits that bite at my
sweet flesh, holding sickles to bar me.
My pores burst forth geraniums.
I am womb-in-waiting, fires of war,
I am the bloodstained sword
and the cow that lows nightdeep.
I am furred, horned. I am scaled
by your deft hands on the piano.
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