R I P
Sleepy drapes are opened
to a shallow grave,
of my love resting, but not at peace.
As at every mention of your name,
the dirt unearths.
Time has no place in this place,
and an angel and her brother
bid you to unbury and bed me
so that they may live in our union
years before we are born.
"Why hath he not spoken?"
I ask her and she responds
"His eyes are only open to beauty
in the world, but not beneath,
and in that he is doomed forever."
In her despair at her father,
she falls into a slumber
and drips into my womb,
promising that our future will arrive