(if) when i
turn to stone, take my
heart and bury it
beneath a garden.
let vines embrace my
frozen form
and a forest grow
above my useless body.

find the grave of the cosmos
that convinced the stars
we were right
and salt the earth.

(eye contact is
inevitable).

put me to rest as my own
grave marker
surrounded by soil
crawling with the things
she’ll never give me. let
it seep into my
pores and manifest
as the dirt
under my fingernails.

(who’s to say
i wasn’t made of stone
to begin with?)