A Sickness

It’s in the way we bloomed together
and in the way that we fell apart:
Wound tightly and scraping against
the softest parts as we’d claw and lick
and sting and soothe.

All that’s left now are the ugliest parts.
The looming shadow of two naked vultures
circling each other in anticipation,
plucking out feathers to keep warm as we choke
on the air we once shared freely.

In dying I have torn apart the twisted ropes
that held our stems together. In killing you
have ripped me open and watched me bleed
into you, mixing disease with desperate and prickling

The night that you clung to me in apology,
I dreamt of living in your skin. Crawling deep
into your belly and placing myself at your very centre.
If I could hear your heartbeat from the inside,
would it be enough, then?

Perhaps this is domestication,
siamese in this tumored symbiosis,
both existing and not inside a radioactive box.
For how long can we be both dead and


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s