Your past haunts me like a ghost haunting a graveyard,
I am twenty million houses all with screams ricocheting through every square foot.
You are the secret hidden bones lying beneath my floorboards
buried deep down where not even I can find you,
Touch you, hold you the way I want to be held.
Your skeletal fingers tickle my foundations and the running water is fresh with your decay,
your sharp net collar bone pushed its way into my gardening yesterday
and I could see my lipstick stains,
as though the rosy pink soaked through your skin and marked white marrow covered bone.
Your iris has shed from your eye sockets and your lungs need stitching together.
Your spinal cord is worm food now and your heart is cold as stone.
But god your stunningly beautiful raw ossein and all.
Much more charming than when your flesh was stretched
over the lush curves of your cheek bones,
like darkness stretched over the moon.
YOU ARE READING
Vultures And Other Vulnerabilities.
Poetry"I hope it gives you the same satisfaction as finishing a really good book, Or kissing someone, and not walk away feeling like they have taken something from you."
