Like your breaths
That grew feeble
With the noose accompanying your neck,
Like the rope was far more embracing
Than ever were my hands
To your waist.
Like time tested tables to turn,
Like love had nothing left to burn
To the ashes we’d pick up
And consume, while our mouths were filled with rot.
Like love had its own sickness
Beneath our flesh,
But, found nothing where it could adore anyone
Else, but itself.
Will we soon drown
Inside our own minds?
Or plead to God, above,
Inside our own hearts?