Not That It Was Beautiful,

We Talked Death With Burned-up Intensity, Both Of Us Drawn To It Like Moths To An Electric Light Bulb. Sucking On It!

And Within The House Ashes Are Being Stuffed Into My Marriage, Fury Is Lapping The Walls, Dishes Crack On The Shelves, A Strangler Needs My Throat, The Daughter Has Ceased To Eat Anything.

Women Are Born Twice.

My Mouth Blooms Like A Cut.

Sometimes The Soul Takes Pictures Of Things It Has Wished For, But Never Seen.