deepundergroundpoetry.com
The Marriage Bed
The night’s heart slowly passes mean,
Soul’s chilblains settle in like ghosts
Her breathing warm, but freezing still.
She thinks her will commands my shame,
And words alone can conjure home,
The fractured forms her mirrors show.
A minuet of bones and skin,
With songs coughed out in bile and spleen
Where she believes her words have sounds.
Long since I fled this prison cell,
Its stains and reeks and rings of smoke.
Its micely crumbs and tattered love.
And now, reclaimed by desert dust,
In buttes and spreading Joshuas
A flaming dawn to long night’s end.
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