Night Swamp

 

I sense your warmth, close enough
to smell the past day on your clothes.
Grass and salt — the early dunes linger
on your skin, on blister cracked lips.


I see your hair is a tangle of lies you tell yourself
and the map is crumpled with frustration.
There's only further in, to the swamplands.
Red bumped bites... itching, oozing... " You mustn't scratch."


"This? Briny water, help yourself, here's a cup to dip."
I'm called by the dusk, by stirrings and flutterings.
My axe blunted, night hacking. Don't look back.
The paths are swallowed whole by the soul eater.


There's only further in, to the swamplands...