It's just a mineral deficiency
I told myself the day he started
It must be genetic;
the emotion for disgust
It helped explain the way
he could stomach
his inappropriate appetite.
But he passed up the main course
and he fled right before dessert.
Behind him he left his napkin,
ingrained stains marked the corners
where he wiped the excess mud.
He must be having an emotional breakdown
or an affair with the flower bulbs.
I tried to make it sound romantic.
But the risk of eating contaminated roads
settled into my mind like dust.
His stomach tears open,
parasites march out,
soon they'll take over
the snow and sprinkle it black,
a reverse nighttime sky,
salt and pepper to taste.
I wish he would eat stars instead,
Gemini and Orion making love
in his lower intestines,
exiting in such peculiar beauty.