Turtle Shell

Retract into self like an amoeba—
don’t touch anything
you may not desire.

Regurgitate old fantasies
when we were young and wicked—
these corners still hold our smells.

Peep into memory like a voyeur
tucking in the corners of today—
flesh is fresher in the mind.

Grow older as I remember
the teddy bear I used to hump
—with a slit where his heart should be—
now dusty and dank—and matted.

Bare my fangs
—dull from grinding—
just for show;
my bite leaves no mark these days.

Try to rattle your demons,
but your gods are just as naked
—and their skin the same green.