As the spiral downs the last snail in twisting turns,
his slimy words slick the floor, and slipping,
she sees what had become a mess of missed steps,
missed suggestions she leave and be,
something, anything besides his side,
his lies, cheats and steals, his bride, his soon-to-be
corpse,
sliding through the salt and shriveling there
so quickly dehydrating like some
siphoned fuel tank, so now the fire's out,
soaked in the truth of what he was, a snail,
slick words a pathway of pain and depravity, spiraling away
as she steps forward for once and God, it feels like
Life.
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