Obtuse wounds that rub
& poison ivy that climbes
The chambers of my throat
Planted by nails that slice
Running across odds with a faceless dice
Words would shatter upon spoken
To be swallowed again
Sowing my lips shut, poisoning the very life
By vines that blister the tongue of those who speak its name
Its vipers run like veins
Over my naked body, where I'm strung.
Still bodies lay present and close, and all around Golgotha.
In Golgotha the watchers lay dead
But they're not-
Their eyes are just closed.
YOU ARE READING
Roses In Death
PoetryPoems strung together by notes, telling the story of a love that arrived and passed.
