| be the gallows to my pretty noose |

her fingers understand

the poetry scribed upon

frigid flesh and the

ruin some touches leave

in storm-dark hollows

seal them with fire and bone

and now

when a smile

dares to haunt my lips

it is nothing but

a garden

and wander the ether

satin breath

against onyx clouds

becoming ghosts

we sway there

slow, melancholic

a lilac evening

inside my ribs

where the bruise

of you still flowers

the violent undertow,

the salt rot that

coiled in my ribs

yet he looked at me

like I was all tide-light

and distant horizons

like I slept beneath

storm-scented waters

and let the moon

gather my grief

white-throated and trembling

to the beautiful things

that are not forever;

not meant to stay, but to

provide peace

deliver hope

inspire souls and hearts

back to life

the world pass

from inside

her glass heart

that we’re

dead

a rusty saw

blade shaving

thin ribbons

of hope, and

long after the

cutting, the

amaranthine