Before I choked the air with weightless comfort,
I felt the buoyancy of unrequited love;

this heaviness of life so unfamiliar to me.
I have only ever seen the laments of the living, never touched,

and how their faces distort in a twist uglier than the wind
that carries ash and soul to rest.

How ignorant to believe that my ferocity was by chance,
the queen of Carthage built her demise

to loom over the love of her city.
Very quickly, I could tell no difference between the arch of

her spine and that of a warrior's. How naive of me
to have felt proud, as she used me to gaze upon

her legacy. I could not see the content in her eyes, and it was too late
when I felt a piece of me splinter and become one

with her sternum. If I could cry out, please know I would.
I crush my anguish into flame and warp the vapour of

her being to wipe your tears but you choke.
The only solace I can offer is the gentle caress of her spirit

as I carry her, as if she is Moses and I the Nile,
passing through to wrestle Hades for the reins of Hell.