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Cabal
There is a cabal that dances ‘round my finger.
Some days I think the pale gypsy has moved,
Some days I cover.
When I feel a bite at my knuckle I know from whom it came,
The tiny silver goblin that nibbles on my flesh.
There is a cabal that dances ‘round my finger.
In a blur of breath and water and voices he drinks me,
I stretch, hands out, to meet his stomach.
There is a cabal that dances ‘round my finger.
For nine years I sit at the pit of him,
He vomits and I dance.
Slow like honey I sway up through his mouth.
Out.
