Frankenstein

December 5, 2025

I have a fear of dissection,

squeamish at the thought

of peeling Fruit (its fleshed perfection.)

To pry into the secrets of the apple,

to muse upon her taste–(ascribe me as Even.)

Is it so wrong to wear my own skin?

Her hand on the scalpel and the wedges are made even,

the Adam is splitting and His world beneath him,

embracing forbidden beauty in spite of the Grim.

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