The moon leaks through the tree-blinds as
Your body waits to be claimed,
Laid among the dead narra trees, in the night,
Solemn cries are heard; your flesh becomes one
with the earth, as the wet soil shaped like cradles covers you.

In the trembling rows of the village, behind locked doors.
A mother is holding her stomach, waiting for the release.
In the womb, you sense life beating.
They seem so far away.

Pink was your eyes
and the way I was willingly lost in them
Pink was the way your hands held me
before they tossed me aside
Pink was our tears
melting into laughter
as the ice around us did the same

Now, pink is the unwanted freedom
that I desperately need
Pink is a blemish on my memory
which my simple forgetfulness cannot erase

The old pink held your promises,
the new pink washed them away,
watched them break

Pink was never enough.