Death’s Story Begins Too Early

~ but only you remain real ~

Image on Pixabay by siabatulhamdi

Captive in briny formaldehyde,

a foetus scorched by

nakedness

long dead her

feminine fluids,

tar in the gut like a

sickly captive night

and hermaphrodite thighs

blanched by corrupt edicts,

beckons me.

Who do your eyes

point fingers at?

I want to ask.

It smells like old resin

blanched autumn leaves

and rusted nails

to stand in the way

of your gaze.

“ I was poured

from a father

who looked like yours

my mother was

a pounded sponge

emptied of flavors.

On a mist of nostalgia

She floated

her breath,

blue mountains alive

with simple dreams.

But he killed her