Three weeks since I buried you
Still plagued by the desire
To dig you up
Underneath the oak tree
Where the ground thawed
Clawful and dirt-laced
My hands
A Ferris wheel
Of decay
Excavating
My last breath
Open the shoebox
And press you to my face
Kiss your lip-smeared locket
The one your father gave me
My face, mirrored in your eyes
Now we are settled in the bath
Removed from the stench
Steeping, arrogant soil
Does my matter compel you?
The same way—
Reincarnation?
A place among the stars
We fester together
In the sludge
Decomposing
Your sediment
Underneath my fingernails
My blistered cuticles
A swollen remembrance
Blood vessels beating
To the tune of your shriveled heart
I eat it
You are mine
Placed back in the scarlet box
Wrapped in linen
And planted in the ground
Another sapling,
Eager
For spring’s tidings
About the Creator
Bride of Sound
I explore themes of altered perception, distortion of the body, and dysfunctional romance. Sometimes chaotic, attempting to control.
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