wrapped like a pudding,

what’s your favorite color

and your wish will be granted!

taste like a red herring,

wait –

taste like a dream come true.

there, that sounds a lot

more palatable

the ears do not differentiate

what stings and what moves

the heart,

for the flesh makes a pathway

when the salesman tells a good tale.

bedtime stories, nightmares of adult life

and miss muffet is no longer spooked by the spider

because she has grown old, no longer sees clearly

with all that hairy, needly, spiny touches

sending shivers of delight,

another curd slides into her mouth, yummy

must be yummy when needly, spiny

touches becomes whatever she imagines them to be.

of cobwebs, of spiders down her throat,

infesting her insides

she must sense them not!

what a horrid tale, not good for bedtime

and thus the trojan horses make

their way to the heart,

twist, it, wraps around that living beating

thing, adaptation, transformation,

alchemy till the living being has been stolen away,

his identity lost, now just

another slave rushing for the next big sale.