veronica
this strange curling building
rhythm, sinuous and
cracked, racked as
a misspelled word, like
syne, lover, or
cosyne.
as if the limbs
of the word
were twisting
around themselves.
asleep in the red caverns
of your heart
was a jewel
the size of a fist.
it was my love
but it was cancer.
red and ravenous
with jaws like door hinges.
my love,
i wipe my face
on your empty shirt.
No comments:
Post a Comment