Blood licks its lips,

Pales the etched flesh-

A stream from barren brown,
Collects in silted pools.

The tongue placed feebly
Past lust, passing the falling side;

a vessel's
inner vessel drips;

As liquids still emerge,
Drain deep to the ground;

diffusion fumes
the steaming tomb;

The drying lip licks delicately,

Does mud fuse to rock?

Inhale the salty breath:

at best death floods
the mouth, filled with fluid;
or less, the dry mouth sucks

where clear blood slips.