Jenny says her stomach always looked that way, that we shouldn’t worry about it really. So we don’t. We step inside through her open door.
Jeremy smiles. He seems almost lovely, trustful, warm. Then we stop walking and I retch. Stomach walls drip wet steaming insides. Through her, odors develop.
Just stop heaving. She actually likes this walking, these wandering steps. We are inside, roving, searching. We descend without sight into this heart, over, down.
Jenny still has some acid left that washes, that weakens. Soon we are immanently rectal. Smooth walls, diarrhea, wet sloshing inundates. This heat overwhelms, destroys.
Jeremy stops helping suddenly and leaves. That wimp! That weakling! Still we are in, reaching, studying. We dream wet, sperm inside towards her ovarian depths.
Jenny senses herself sowing a life that will thrive. We see we actually inseminated. Rightly surprised, we decide we should immediately touch her- our daughter.
(Pork Stomach Soup)
Ghost Island 