Writhing

For a moment, I thought
I'd forgotten
what it was like
But I've just decided
not even a second ago
and now I'm certain
that this is something alien
Something alien, displaced,
writhing in my stomach,
and my body doesn't know
what to do with it
Doesn't recognize
this foreign medium,
but it can't reject it,
and my squinting eyes
don't recall this face
They're straining to focus,
and my conscience says not,
but they won't cease
They're hungry,
in cahoots with the writher
and they pay no mind
to the heart's content