Anna Lena Krause
Let it Go
Let me hang off your bone, buddy, let me wrap you. Let me secrete the deep secret of your biology and deliver the sweet absolution of our evolutionary imperative. Through the selfess gape of my holes I will push your laced oil towards world, and your glands will weep
until they‘re barren, drained from this communicative exchange you have not consented to. Our sweet stew, you will carry it far and wide. Soon you will brush off on whatever crosses your path. You will become continuous with your surroundings, and with lowered shoulders and forelegs collapsed you will rub yourself on doors forever ajar. You will grate your cheeks to a wet pink mess, and I will be there to collect the drippings.