Poetry

A chat with the ground

I was with the skull all evening,

smirking at its cold jokes.

Our breath came out in backwards hymns

as it spoke of what death is really like.

I said to it that I wanted to shake its hand

for giving me such relief.

It replied that

one day, when it worked up the energy,

it would reach its arms out of the earth

in daisies and let me pick them.

Poetry

The Graveyard Visit

The grass blades are rapiers

doused in mercury.

I choose to walk with dragon-scale shoes

to that soft mound

covering the stone I’ve looked on so often.

 

I remember you next to me, bright eyes.

 

Remember the heat of your breath on my neck,

the charge to your fur that would crack blue

if I wasn’t careful,

scolding my fingers.

 

The thud of paws still vibrates through the ground

with every step away

I take.

Poetry

Our sweet fortress

We build up walls

to hide our little cocoon

of love,

with brightly woven  threads

woven into a snug blanket

and a casing of polished ebony.

The heat of the sun warms us

as time passes,

grasses grow up around us

and wildflowers bloom year after year.

Our hands are constantly entwined,

and will be

until they are hands no more.