the bodies long buried; longingly yours

i am still unlearning the harm that you have
done-- the fragments of my ribs are
still enjambed within
my chest-- heave in\
gasp out\

never known for subtlety
(but i will learn
to appreciate --

--the silence--

if only in

submission)

--

i will be okay if there is no funeral oration
nor spectacle made of my inevitable death.

you needn't mourn me-- keep the ravens
in the dressers and instead, cry for things that
actually matter.

i will love you, but only in concept.
you will not feel my hands on you--
we will not become a singularity
nor amalgamation of limb
and hand--

i will forsake you until the end of time--
when i will finally shed these robes,
and let myself be eaten and disappeared.

--

i wonder how many times i have used
the same words to say the same thing?
how much have i submitted, feared?
how long have i been crystalizing, thawing,
screaming, crying? how many times have i been
bloodied, cleared myself of sin, resolved to die alongside
all that i deemed beautiful?

have i remained chained to the kennel,
or stuck etching myself over a false sky?
am i still a guide in spirit, or yearning for the touch
of another person? will i still wander aimlessly
and try to soul-search?

maybe i am still [restless], still bloodied and
bruised-- maybe all these fireflies are all too
damn strange and the carrion that i carry on
will die as it all falls around me--

maybe, maybe i am
still hoping that
you love me.