sand shifts

talons sink

a smell wafts

of course

it’s the coriander seeds

it’s a sign

a sign of death

a vision of blood

talons snapping bones

limp bodies

but worse

the nights

hoping

for a single glance

a sign of approval

a notion that I exsist

but it doesn’t come.

it never comes.

She says I'm worthless,

maybe-

i'm starting to believe it myself.