Altar

Every now and then,
when their little stomachs begin to grumble with a big sound,
they gather around the altar

How patient they have been
having observed their prey sprout into something
worth climbing into

A leg that has grown to be lean
worth digging into; a chest that pleasantly resembles both boy and adulthood,
worth biting into

A mouth that doesn’t bite back, but is saddened
when stilling their hunger is all they think about
they gather around the altar