Recovery Mission


We have been washing and anointing

The corpse of our love.

We have been braiding her hair.

We have placed coins on her eyes.

We have folded her hands

Over her chest

As if she died in tranquility.


I am hoarse with epithets

I do not remember.  You

Sit back in your suit of silence, a wilting

Funereal lily of an old man.


Only moments ago

I bled from my eyes;

You swallowed fire and came at me

Blood of old betrayals

Spewing from your mouth

Hands reaching for my neck.


In the aftermath,

Unmasked, we sit until two a.m.

Afraid to move.

If I cut myself open

With the slivers of moonlight

If I fell on a knife to atone

We would still be lost