You squeeze out of my alveoli
like a battalion of ants from bad broccoli
and spread yourself miasmic through
my lungs—a spreading stain
siphoning into my bronchial tubes
before your forces rejoin and collude
into a bolus that shoots through my windpipe
mowing my cilia as you travel up my trachea
and lodge—only for a moment—in
my voice box like a racquetball
in a fence before I expel you
with a hacking cough and you
throw out a fin at the last minute
to turn left at the sinus and arc
into my mouth swinging monkey-like
with another fin off my dangling uvula
and take a dive-boarding leap off
the tip of my tongue but I
chomp down just in time,
and swallow you, strangling
your cries with my gullet
until you drop into the acidic
pools of my revenge and drown
to death so that I might absorb
your remains and remember.