Would you still love me if I was a worm?

“No.”

“Why?”

“I think you’re the snail that eats the worm.”

“Snails don’t eat worms.”

“You never know.”

“Well… I’d still love you if you were the worm.”

“I’ll love you by staying still.”

…..

Snails.

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Slugs.

Squids.

Snakes?

No, that’s not right. But I can’t be for sure. I’m not confident.

I don’t know which she is. All I know is that she’s gummy. Miry.

I can’t find my balance. I’ve sunk into the brown. I can’t feel my toes, but I know they’re wet. Sludge between the stretches, deep in my nails. Too far gone my legs have turned brown. It’s a nice shade. I can’t see them.

I feel brown.

Perhaps she is a snake in the mud. I can’t see her. Something slithered across my thighs. I feel slightly aroused. She licked me with her long tongue. Supper on her lips. I’m not sure if I am blessed with enlightenment or dripping in guilt. I’m paralysed between the discomfort. My body painted in dirt and slime. I feel it between the crevices. It’s an odd feeling, but not entirely unpleasant. It’s warm, pulsating against the pulp of my flesh.

I think there’s earth in my veins. I feel brown.

But I don’t think her a callous serpent. Such a creature would be incapable of benevolence let alone endue one with epiphany. She had been sincere with her kisses and tender to touch.

Would she be a metamorphosis of large snail under the mud?

I can’t feel her shell. She is supple to the bone.

Maybe a slug.

Or a squid.

In the mud?

No.

What would I know. It might just be the slime talking.

I’m murky brown.