Under God,
you found me,
a grievance of lines and
love scraped off from your
canvas-covered toes,
your heels into my spine,
and devotion where we break,
where the vertebrae cracks,
merely to reconstruct through wire.
I am made of vines and ivory,
embryonic to your altar's facade.
I am born of your rib
and torn from the womb,
where you've left me nameless,
the bride of your blood.
Your body is a sarcophagus
where our fingers meet to pray,
mouths against the collar bones,
to a widow of the stars.
I am twisted pretty
to the hem of your flames,
dissolving my veil with heat,
and under God you found me,
a wife to the grave.

09/27/2008

Author's Note: My husband and I are separated.

Posted on 09/27/2008
Copyright © 2026 Michelle Floyd