The blood began to flow.
I watched the liquid flow almost black and viscous.
I was in a place beyond myself,
far removed from my shattered psyche
that refused to recognize your twisted limbs,
the waste pooling around us from your bowel.
Your stench overcame the powerful scent of cloves
that had spilled from your bag.
As I teetered on the edge of darkness
I wondered if I could regain myself
before the comfort of madness.
You were so heavy against me...
so dead.
My fingers gripped flesh,
my palms leaked sweat between the silky folds of your inner
elbow.
How could it come to this?
Then the pressure came.
My chest filled and heaved,
my eyes grew hot,
all my ears could hear
was the life blood that had left you pumping incessantly,
intolerably in my temples.
She stayed motionless
with only one rhythmic breath sounding music through the night.
I pressed the corpse closer to my breast.
Woman: You're no longer here with me.
But you are.
She pressed her ear to those dead lips
cold and unfeeling.
Just under the surface of memory
there was the familiarity of kisses once delivered
by your fleeted consciousness.
Corpse: Am I?