The echo of the Bunny Man carries itself

in old clothes thrown over a chair the darkness

when shadows of the night converge.

Their arrival brings the cold unwanted touch

of fingers beneath the bedding and over p-jay’s.

They attempt a gentle touch with razor blade nails

that tenderly remove clothes and shred innocence.

The stomach recalls the candy, soured by its bile.

The pillow wet with teary rain and the scissoring pain

that rifles through the body when legs are splayed.

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