A poem for Hey

Mole
By Zack Strait

(for Heeather)


You burrowed into my chest
and it tickled my ribs.

I've never been thin,
So I'm sure you stayed warm in there.

You'd look out at me all the time
with your beady little eyes.

Your home, which once offered a soft glow,
became a gaping wound
when you left.

It was then that I realized
you'd feasted on my soiled heart,
it was a freaking ten course meal.
All you left me were the scraps.