by Shana Huang

If I were right beside you, I’d

whisper into the caverns of

your ears, filling them

with my tears,

which leak from my eyes and my hands,

shredded skin weeping,

weakening me, like your smile on a winter

day when you held me close to

your chest, heartbeat softly speaking a song

as you strangled me before the alter

like another lily snatched from the

earth and made into a bouquet,

present before the union of two ghosts

who were harvested with the love of

death, their presence filling the space with

lovely sounds, serenading the crowd as the

room fills with chatter and clatter,

shifting chairs scraping the floor as people

shift, standing like headstones in a graveyard

filling this space with the sound of people talking.

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