She lay warming her belly in the sun
in the deep grass and flowers. The hum of bees
thrummed through her skin. The scent of peonies
hung in the air. Her scales were gold and dun

and red and green. Thuds jolted her awake
feet running ā€“ one foot caught her. Her sharp bite
caught at a heel. She drained her venom. Night
descended on her in sharp blows. The snake

was trampled by sharp hooves, that smashed her skull
and tore her skin to tatters. Deadly beast
that meant no harm. Her slow cold heart beat ceased,
Her darting tongue still, diamond eyes left dull.

Small complex bones crushed shards. Beetles and ants
fed well on what was left of elegance.

About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
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2 Responses to

  1. ffutures says:

    Quite right too – snakes have very bad press!

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