Kingdom Come

Close up image of earthworms in the soil.Still, I hunger for you: those nights we’d get so high we turned into earthworms, how we would writhe, reverent, our entire bodies capable of taste, each pore a mouth, our limbs looping, fingers like meat, toes like tongues, savoring, devouring sweat and sloughed cells—the elation—goddamn, I miss that; and I know we shouldn’t, we’re mercury on the skin, yet I long to burrow with you again, the chalk of calcium upon us, the grind of minerals, our decayed lives, fleshy loam, a kingdom of dirt where we could ride each other, forever, where we could be divine.

D.E. Hardy’s work has appeared in New World Writing, FlashFlood, Clockhouse Magazine (Pushcart Nomination), and Sixfold, among others. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area and can be followed on twitter @dehardywriter.

Photo Credit: Dan Brekke

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