Leave me to the buzzards

Leave me to the buzzards
I am already burnt out and hollow,
my skin and bone separated
by caramel apple rot
melting into a cocktail
of poison and wine,
and sugar scrub tannins
eroding into the ground.

Leave me to the open air
let my decay oxidize with the
breeze where carnivores look
to feast upon hapless
side skins and curdled marrow.
They prey to paint on my bones
the shadows of the desert
and to cut away at my sockets
so that eyes meet with
the sullen pink of stomachs and never agains.

Soft ivory wind fills the canyon husk.

We are alone now.
So leave me to the buzzards.