With stones in my eyes
and your flesh
between my teeth,
I rot a little more.
My plants weep and wander
as I try to
conjure your smells
from the cold.
Grey is the color of your skin
and the night is thick
with our black blood.
Closing my eyes,
breathing deep,
my hands remember
the curve of your hip
and the miles between us
are molecules.
Another breath and
amber fills my mouth.
Tea bags drying
and good whiskey
with limes
and lilac
and bleach
and mastiffs
and skin
all burn in me now
with enough heat
to tighten the flesh
around my ribs.
I cannot stand this empty
air and the weight
of our nothing
has stamped me flat.
No cherry blossoms here
as the lies
cover the soil,
poisoning the root.
Another breath,
my head tilts back
and mouth opens
in remembrance of our sacrament.