When I unveiled you, lover,
Peeled these rented sheets sticking
Sweat to skin,
I half expected to find maggots kissing
Your flesh. And, yes, whilst I could still trace the wound on your shoulder I
Teethed into the night before -
Removing with it the sheath that hid your pink -
You still looked fresh.
There were no flies to lick the berry blood painting your pillow,
There were no bruises rotting your body,
No puckering, shrivelling, pruning.
I ran my hand across your chest and you felt taut
(Like rope),
Your peach fuzz tickled my fingertips.
How could I devour such a pretty thing?
Squeeze you in my stone fist until you exploded,
Leaving behind nothing but your pit and the juice
Dripping down my wrist -
A sweet trail of you.
So I draped the sheet back over your corpse and rinsed myself dry,
And when I checked again you still hadn't decayed.