Shabar

When I grow up I want to be  The white rag clenched between your teeth.  The spit slack on the nauseating ledge Of every word unsaid. 

“I’ll stand beside you as you jump” All we ever do is sit and say things Sifting for lost parts amid dirt  Finding fragments for the funeral.

Suspend your disbelief,  Steel struck a hard thing. Red rosy cheeks and a rush of air raping her lungs Yes, still very much alive Still very much going to set her aside. 

Her flesh gives nicely to my shiny new needle Can you crochet a cross-stitch?  Pearls or lace, pick wisely  The pattern must be a patron-pleaser  Enliven greedy grins and groping fingers  Lest peddled in the public forum  Not a plea lays claim to my property.

Cinching her seams, taut  tight line of my lips take you in palms leak with the pulp of all  Your broken pieces.

You spill all over the brim of our blackout curtains  Up to our ankles in deep maroon. Dancing,  as I dug a grave.  My clammy hands clasp the cold plaque  Eyes hush close, pallor-faced  As air stirs and strokes my face, your pirouettes piercing lovely angel-shapes.