by A. E. Coleman 


Fat little body tight with heat, round and swollen as a goose tucked beneath my arm, dressed in your black velvet gown, highland green fringe at your knees, your three tail feathers rest against my shoulder. They lay straight, proud, dragging our train of harmony through the air behind us. Your bill dangles below, and my fingers dance along your neck. From the parade crowds that line the street, my cuckhold, a man quiet enough for my nerves, cheers in mime, support drowned out by our love making. Wed through the lungs, our union more intimate than any church could boast to bless. With no voice of your own, you demand an attentive touch, humiliating me if my focus drifts to anything but you. In return, you clean out my soul, run a wind tunnel through my pipes to tear away thorns and infection, stilling my mind to metered silence. Nothing can be created nor destroyed, only changed in form -- even you can’t wholly uproot wrongs -- and yet still, my beloved little animal, you breathe my screams into song.

Artist Information:

Author: A. E. Coleman

Instructor of Creative Writing

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