Your grave
is a painting of our love on fire
our smiles scorching,
oil burning off the canvas.

the smoke almost suffocates me
until it gets too high to grasp,
grabbing at Your ghost which holds my bliss
but You slip —through my fingers— toward the sky
so much

distance now.

You’re smoke towering in the air



i’m low with grief at my feet.

it’s worse.
Even when I had to talk to You throughthedoor,
MeandYou lived.

nowi’mbeing flungforward in timenopausei’mchronicallydrowsy.

Head hung like a flag.

i cannot wait til the winter comes.
smoldering ashes will be smothered with frost;
longer nights and shorter days
preserved.

-Cremated