There were bodies in the lake with us,
Floating with their watermelon heads ajar.
One was tethered to your hand,
Her face made of white ravens.
I looked too close and caught my reflection in her skin.
You were feeding a straw dog an island.
He had the orange, English sunrise in his eyes.
A constellation swam at your feet and
Purple Hyacinths bled to the surface—
They swallowed me whole.
I created a mountain in my place and
Trapped you in a labyrinth sky.
We were in the wrong house
And the TV was breathing in static.
A butterfly devoured the lake and left you in the crater.
The dog choked and you fed it wallpaper instead.
I counted the diamond dust in the curtains.
Seven billion wilted tides danced across the ceiling,
Repeating the same melody above a hollow vase:
I can't replace a memory with a ghost.
YOU ARE READING
Embody Me
PoetryA series of emotional poems that aim to make your soul feel something.
