Rabbit Stew

Where are the carrots?

You go groping down the rabbit hole,
with mud-browned knees: I feel your paws
on my neck, claws at my back,
like kisses. I breath in the scent
of your flesh, mixed with dust;
I cough your skin from my mouth.

Where are the carrots?

How do we measure our love
in the time of starvation?

I feel the dryness of your mouth;
your shedding fur lines
the pathway to the briar:

Beneath the bonfire, a girl licks her lips.
Her eyes gleam in the shadows.

Above the fire, a rusted cauldron.
Her father strokes the stew with his ladle.

Kisses.

I suck you in between my teeth -
you taste of cinnamon.


Where are the carrots?