Flesh and Bone

Darkness rests beneath his brow

and in his eyes there’s death

I yearn for it, to merge somehow

with every whispered breath.

In his arms I am myself

and still I am removed,

as a book upon a shelf:

red-backed and subdued.

He reads the pages that he likes

and leaves the rest to rot;

as though I am to be despised

for everything I’m not.

Yet when he asks me “Will you come?”

how can I not say yes?

I want it all, with flesh and bone,

forever cursed, I guess.


~ by mescribe on November 10, 2011.

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