Entry 401

Soul split, not yet splintered.
Her lips purse as mine split,
Forthcoming words were
Unwelcome.
Your concern ought ebb
Or fully disperse.
Our lips will meet in meditation.
Silence.
Red meat drips with my mantra.
Motion.
Green cud drains pastel poetry
From the birthing pool of memory.
My hunger has not ceased
Nor thirst depleted.
A will to live gains fervor
Despite my unwillingness to breath.