of my body her body

a poem is etched along the slippery inside

edges of my throat sketched in deep red letters it

itches to be let out to be spoken and

no one knows it yet but i promise though it

is broken it exists with deepthroated grief for you

there are plants -they are weeds- sprouting in

my lungs that scrape at the corners and

drop silver seeds they sprout golden flowers i

dont know if they slow my breathing but i would tear

them from my chest and wear them for you if i could

there is a knife between my gapping teeth that

cuts and holds my mouth as its bloody sheath and takes up

the spaces i wished your mouth would be on but

the blade traps my words and twists the smile to a

curve that drops like the hope in my hollowed heart

a hive thrums in my skull with a deafening buzz that i

cannot silence it is word after word fighting to

be heard and they dig sharp into my mind with

their angry desperate venom and stinging nettle because

a stirring thought will not settle behind closed eyes

and though i breathe and live still my heart ceases to

pump its crumbling valves to writhe in this unsettling

silence that is despair though not a corpse -yet buried to

the final grain of sand- still i rot and the blood in my

chest is holy and hopeless it is hot under the weight of knowing

that there is nothing left of you to hold