your teeth are gone
you gaze at the setting sun
and the rumble in your belly
is low and unobtrusive
as the gazelle that bound out of reach
and jaunted away on its fresh hooves
a kill for some stronger cub coming up
night falls over the plains
and you gaze on the twilight
with slowly drooping lids
with no clue of your mortality
and only the knowledge of the instant
in which you're hunted
Content (c) 2008-2011 Philip Milito.
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