it was unsaid, walking into the cave
pale, skinny chest puffed out, regulated.
not here not here in the rat's lair the sound
of dripping water upon ear, Antigone's
dried bones rattling in the dark. A quorum,
sharp teeth sunk in wet loins while the shadows\
look on, an aperitif of flesh, lustrous
in gloom. Those skulls were heroes once, maidens
with soft breasts, old men with bent canes, crones. Chill
between slick thighs will be licked off, back pressed
against wall knees high, rain is only a note
in the song; brittle limbs broken in time
the incessant drip the sun that neither
rises nor falls in eyes that are not here.