#50 The Beetles

Broken light through trees. Shadows and sunshine. Light breeze playing in the leaves. Overhead a plane rumbles distantly, and thin clouds break twist and tear silently. I lay your body in the leaves and straighten your limbs. The woods fall silent. I smell earth and wood and dried sun. Vines weave out of the earth, slide lightly over your body. Dark beetles make their home in your breast, deeply. I watch you crumble the smokeless burning of decay claiming you utterly while vines and beetles begin to wrap my feet in loving embrace.