the wounds of a lamb

Take of my flesh and lamb fore I am mutton

Here, my limb is placid with nowhere to be

This is my forgiveness as much as my suffering

A selfish little lamb needs to meet her grate and fee

How long until the butcher’s and I’s dear reunion

He is the greatest ratifier of ungrateful ol’ me

My wool is the plushest of lambs who want to touch him

It is the only wool that will never be weaved

The butcher watches as I tremble and teeter

I am used to being his and he forgets to mind

He says, “You will hate what this journey has to offer.”

I say, “I will escape from a hold that has been too kind.”

He lowers his hatchet for his one and only keeper

There is no love more imposing than his hatch and I

I have no repentance that deserves me of water

But my pained twisted leg will bring me to wine