I think of you and I think
Of dying. Of your eyes
So vacant, gone. Not
ever to see me again.
The tears, the Cataract of
Our Lives.
The trench that survives.
The underbelly opens.
Stairs of dirt and
Petals. The crushed
detritus cuts my hands.
“Do I dare to eat a peach?”
Will
you still love me tomorrow?
The music that you
shudder, a
throe.
My heart trembles.
Caroline Shank
May 6, 2026