Your Dead Scorpion

Baby, I love how you have a dead scorpion on your pillow
it’s my favorite thing about you
 
I like to watch it decompose together
rotting claws
stinger mush
exoskeleton odors
 
once formidable killer of small insects
now shrinking into a sheet stain
right where your head’s supposta sleep
 
I admire your half-smile
as pincers get erased by bacteria and time
 
Ohh, Baby it’s so black
it hasta be more real than anything else, right? Ohhh
how the witnessing of entropy’s indifference makes our dopamine surge
 
Baby, thanks for letting me stay near your bed
(as long as there’re venom memories in the arachnid coffin), so we can fully contemplate something formerly alive disintegrating into nothing
with no second chances
 
to think the animal usta try so hard to survive and now look
 
Baby, I wanna make love to you right on top of your dead scorpion
and feel its carbon-based remains jab into my back!
 
yeah, Baby it has occurred to me we’re only attached cuz you own a deceased being and I have noticed there’s a little less corpse left each time I see you
 
and Baby, if you’re like the old Babies, I kinda know when it’s gone
we will dig no grave
and say no prayer
and eventually there’ll be nothing left to share
 
and then something else’ll die, Baby
me&you
 
yeah…
 
yeah, I know the next Baby should rest on something living
but will they?
 
May 2019, Boulder, CO