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VENAL HOT WINGS

Scott A. Russell

Her plump

Tongue rasps oily
Flesh from steaming bones

And her dexterous digits
Like a child’s
Pile them neatly

On a second plastic plate.

Six little lives
Are sucked clean between her lips
In the name of decadence,

Her eyes fixed on mine,
Her legs lascivious and

Insinuating beneath the table

(love laughs, a mouthful of fire
love smiles, lipsticky with gore)



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