Salivating Thoughts

Those voluptuous grey walnuts,

‘mousebrains’, we called them:

tasted by salacious gondii.

We unfurl these ripened fruits.

Paths leading nowhere,

meaty contours untrodden.

Soon hungry lips suckle,

pumping out fluids,

leaving husks, cortex stems.

Skulls full of pressure,

clamped tightly (in heat

desiring), used up.

Cauliflowers in

unclasped dead-green hands,

crooning for one touch.

Dropped in the mire:

soiled again, slob-

stained, shit-for-brains.

Penned in situ,

mud spitting down cracks:

mouldy flesh.

Filth still,

smutty intellect:

withered.

Now?

Gorging again on

self.

Just one thought remains.