darling death come siphon me from this shell of skin,
I have grown ill, the rose of me has
wilted with summer’s swelt

love,
he has unrooted me with his bare hands
my soul is most stifled- starved and marked
with the sweet engravements, and violet of his ravenous palms

death consume me, let my bones be nothing
more than dust, so thin, that it falls
between his fingers;
kissing them with sick decay

06/03/2004

Author's Note: to the way the bruises ache when love rips you out and plants you back

Posted on 06/03/2004
Copyright © 2024 Wendy Geal