03: first date
loss tastes like a monsoon. she watches you
with pale green eyes, and you hold your
hands against the strangle of her air.
there is a silken ribbon wound across your
dark throat, and you are made of brine
against a pillar of bone, and fabric pools
crimson on bared earth.
death still presses to tongue, here, gravedirt
dark, and you watch her like mirror-
splinters. wood carves into sky.
remember, you know about sharpness, a
moon-silvered blade at your fingertips, at
your lips. remember, you become molten, a
challenge betrayed in wait. remember, this wait.