I dreamt I crawled on top of you and kissed your hips, one at a time, my lips a smolder. I straddled your waist and pressed both shaking hands against your torso. Spongy, like an old tree on the forest floor. I push and your flesh sinks inwardly, collapsing with decay, a soft shushing sound. A yawning hole where your organs should be. Maggots used to live here until your own poison killed them off. I laid my cheek into the loam and three little mushrooms brushed over my eyelid. Peat, decomposing matter, all of it, whatever you wish to call it, rested in the cavity of your chest. And there I planted seeds in the hopes something good would come out of you.

calloused: a field journal