Your skin is slack
papercrushed and worn
alone against those
unseen ivory bones.

Too hollow, sick
like deadened thuds
of dis-eased flesh
this chest of mine
it falls it counts
the seconds.

3 ... 2 ... 1 ...

This deadened flesh
too sick of the seconds
it counts, falls
diseased. The chestthuds
hollow-- mine.

And ivory is worn
(those slack bones
papercrushed, unseen)
alone
against your skin.

01/15/2007

Posted on 01/16/2007
Copyright © 2024 Trisha De Gracia