The Boar

you are my milk

and the subtle

curve

of my hips

you are almost

the soil



 

you are not energy

or fresh movement

I think your body

is lost

 

this kind of boar sinks in the mud

and this

motherly love

sinks deeper

where the dirt is home


 

this is not time

for looking backwords

(nothing will

ever change)

 

I think

tomorrow

wakes up like yesterday

and you will

be

and be