Last rites
Your fingers compress my breastbone
between marked flesh and languish.
Stop the wastefulness in my regions.
“I long to comply.”
To travel.
Harmony of forgetfulness.
To linger?
What was purposed, pushes
for meandering, wearing a disguise
at the end of the dry season.
Camouflage: You didn’t want
to remain but disappeared.
Another blunt remorse
you’ll end with flattery:
“Your inconsequential love,
abandoned.”
* * *
My poem was a version [...]

