Heart-Guzzler

Many moons ago, my mother told a tale. 
She meant it was a warning, 
but I took it as a dare:

“Do not trifle with Heart-Guzzler, 
they will swallow all your joy! 
A guzzler stomach’s never empty — 
they will chew you like a toy!”

But I knew better, see, 
I had too much care to give. 
My big heart was overflowing, 
like love leaking from a sieve.

I’d slip from darkened chamber, 
sneak to seek their secrets out — 
why, I could fill their need for happiness, 
my own rushed from open spout!

I found the hole where they’d been hidden, 
barred by those who lived in fear. 
My soul could cease its painful groaning, 
for its mate was oh so near!

I didn’t fear their hunger, 
so in humor to my own. 
I’d tame this ancient guzzler, 
we‘d no longer feel alone.

I reached down to the poor creature, 
its eyes hollow and so dim. 
Their empty chest had fallen open, 
so I filled to the brim.

The relief was overwhelming!
Soothing aches I’d so long borne. 
They beckoned me draw nearer, 
and my cheeks grew nice and warm.

I slid into the darkness,
toward a light that softly shone.
Their face was glowing sweetly now,
arms reaching for my own.

I laid my hands upon them, 
this forgotten savior-friend, 
and for a moment didn’t notice 
that my fingers sank right in!

High above I could hear screaming, 
begged my body “Flee and shout!” 
But instead it sank down deeper, 
met the guzzler’s sticky mouth.

“All together now,” it whispered, 
as dreams of home dripped down the floor. 
For we are now Heart-Guzzler, 
and our cry goes

more,

more,

MORE.


Text: Kristi Large, 2017
Photo: lauramusikanski at
morguefile.com

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