I always wanted to live in the wilds.
Like animals with their innocence of child’s.
It’s just that it’s often cold and wet,
And, if not, then covered in sweat.
It’s not fun and you might even die,
That’s why I got an implant in my thigh.
It covers me with artificial fur,
Soft and warm and scented like myrrh.
I can sleep, in winter or fall,
Under an oak, not cold or wet at all.
I found a foxhole in its old roots,
Stuffed with hair and over ripe fruits.
The foxes adopted me right there and then,
The scent of my fur was the perfectest ten.
Not just close to it, I’m all the way in.
Thanks to implants hidden under my skin.