nightlight kisses flicker
under covers, while
gun-like fingers wind
around gasping lungs.
tangled lies become
obscene truths, as our
rosary lashes pray for the
yearning boxes, we call hearts.

here, we align our bodies–
ears to mouth, secrets spoken.
‘are you alive, darling?’
red rosed-lips blooming against
the needy and hollowed ribs
soft confessions, quiet heartbeats.

‘if this is what it feels to be
alive, love–let your midnight
hips bury us both.  and in the
morn, let the sun coax our hidden
love–sprouting like baby’s
breath from our rotting chests.’