We dug our own graves
with shiny silver teaspoon
stolen from the marble mansion,

Bloodstreams trickled at
the shrieks of the leaves
and scrutinizing glossy
pairs of almond.

We hammered our own caskets,
Tack tack tacked the night
with pebbles from the pavement
in the backyard and painted it
blue birds on the sides.

We played with the remains
of the past great literary lovers
and no one bid us warning
we would be ******.

The spoon, pebbles, and leaves
moved on its own will.

We cursed and got cursed and
yours lifted away in seconds but
mine lingered deep within.

If this is the punishment
for telling that I loved you,
I’m glad I didn’t mean it
that night when we said it.