The oak wife was threaded with root and soil. Blooded with sap, thick with forest. Life crawled in her hair, between her legs, in the damp pockets of her armpits. When she smiled, her gums were black with resins. Beetles bred in the bark over her back, and she crushed them with her talons when they itched. She was vibrant with desire, becoming, and death.
When the tobacco flowers woke under the stars, her lovers came to her. The oak wife chose them with her tongue, long and sticky and covered in fine hair. Her favourites were those she tasted long after they
