Beneath a Red Hood (Revision 2.1)

[Todd]

Revision 2.1

Hunger is a breathless dance 
of teeth; the stale smell of bricks,
I stink of it.

My ears prick
to the sanguine skip, her hum
a mouthful of bees.

She dangles sweet cherries
on the tongue that licks
against this gnarled root. 

Slick droplet,
bag of raw meat, 
not so little girl,

her hair a thorny tangle
of waves beneath 
the blood moon.

Who could see
and claim her 
an ingénue?

Liquid desire
in pale, naked 
light dribbling
down my chin.

No longer hooded,
her breath rasping, 
a whetstone against 
my sharp angles.

Generations will fill 
my stomach—

so big, so big.

~~
Edit: (Richard, Lizzie, vagabond)
Edit 2.1: Bricks and title change (Richard)

Revision 1.1

Hunger is a breathless dance 
of teeth—the smell of rusted iron—
I stink of it.

My ears prick
to the sanguine skip, her hum
a mouthful of bees.

She is sweet cherries
on the tongue that licks
against the gnarled root. 

Slick droplet,
bag of raw meat, 
not so little girl,

hair, a thorny tangle
of waves beneath the blood
moon.

Who could see
and claim her 
an ingénue?

liquid desire
in pale naked 
light, dribbling wine,

no longer hooded,
her breath, a rasping 
whetstone against 
my sharp angles.

Generations will fill 
my stomach—

so big, so big.

~~

Edit: made a few slight changes

Look at this tangle of thorns—Nabokov

Hunger is a breathless dance of teeth—
the smell of bricks—
I stink of it.

Prick to the sound
of a sanguine skip, her hum
a mouthful of bees.

The taste of innocence is sweet
cherries on the tongue. Licks
across the gnarled root.

This bag of raw meat,
slick droplet, budding rose,
this not so little girl.

Hair like the blood
moon in a tangle
of thorns, a violent cascade

Who could see
and claim her
an ingénue?

The liquid color of desire
in pale naked light
the smell of mutton, dribbling wine.

The path meant to walk
away from—
generations will fill my stomach.

No longer hooded,
breath a rasping whetstone
against my sharp angles.

So big, so big, today is different.
~~~