The Gnawing

This is my baby-fever poem. Perhaps it is open to other interpretations, but the fever is the controlling theme.

The Gnawing

The gnawing grew stronger
than any other ache
since my body started
its slow migration south,
stronger than any yearning
since fine lines began
to etch furrows around my eyes,
and convinced me my heart
would explode and disintegrate.

This gnawing embraced me
And I marveled at its being
It dreamt with me in my waking wanders
And spooned me in the darkness
Consuming me, nibble by nibble
Until my clothes hung
Like a burial shroud
On the shell of who I was.

But weary from the glutton's feast
I shut my eyes and slept
Soundly, dreamlessly
Awaking alone to find
The gnawing had left me
And thirst and hunger, human and sane
Occupied the void it left.




The End

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