Vic, so Bitter

A gentle creature, wouldn't hurt, Everybody knows, he wouldn't hurt. But to swallow and swallow and swallow, more than he can piss. And then he's under, glass, shatters when struck, like her face. The morning finds an empty tide, not high, but dry and the gentle creature longs for a purple patch, but she touches her face, swollen, and says, Vic, it's already here.