Galatea: Collected Poems

Necromance

I'm struggling to see the
slant of moon through budding trees,
your palm fitted to mine and how
you pressed your face to the crook of my neck.

Conjure, peer through the smoke
of broken trust and bitter silence.
Bring it to life.
Summon it's spirit.
A tragic animation of the bones
So forced and I'm terrified,

Is it too late to salvage the flesh?