The serpent of falsehood
oozes from your mouth
an insidious snake
of thick chocolate fudge
wrapping me tightly
ankle to eyebrow
leaving a space big enough
only for my Cheshire smile
of trusting contentment.
Later, the boa
constricts the breath
from my belief
and perishes,
its purpose accomplished
its forked tongue still.
I stagger under the weight,
gasping in the suffocating sweetness,
unable to see much of anything
through the reptilian coils.
Occasionally, I can reach
my machete in time,
but frequently
I must wait for gravity
to claim the decomposing corpse.
Either way,
disposing of the remains
is a time-consuming nuisance.