Hunting Poems

She's hunting poems.
There's a taste in her mouth, sweet and salty with too much heat, words on her tongue, burning, bubbling, sparking, exploding.
She loves his words, devours them whole, tearing  pages with her teeth, ripping out spines with her bare hands.
Destruction in the consumption.
Hers, all hers.
Her body littered with the detritus of fonts and fiction
pulped paper
cardstock and ribbons.
She is drooling ink
dripping antonyms from the corners of her mouth.
A pool of punctuation covers her feet leaking through her toes as she marks a path of poetry with footprints in italics.
Her body shakes
semi-colons leak from her fingers as she throws her arms overhead
shooting exclamation marks into the fading autumnal sky.
Ellipses litter the ground where she stands, marking a path to the bench
where the tattered broken shells of his writing
abound
Spent
depleted
used.
That's what words are for, she says.
To be used
abused
articulated
manipulated.
Words words words!
Eating poems for energy
for life
for love.
His poems, his words
Her heart
Explodes
Sated.

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