the first handful of dirt on the grave

was yours. the mud sliding satisfactorily through

your sweating palms and in between the little

space between those familiar fingers.

and the second handful was mine.

dry and grey from the heat in my heart,

burning a love to ash in the seconds it took to breathe.


we've got a way of showing our electrocution,

static between rough cotton as my stomach

presses persistently into yours,

pulling back so you can realize

how close how close how close

we are.


walking from the tomb our past is dead and buried:

but still, all i remember is your full lips

moist and cracked on my forehead.


you sticky little boy,

sweating in how much you want to be a man,

breaking me down into kisses.

and you stare at me and as ingenuous as i wish i was,

you see the old woman in my eyes

and you know i'm homeless.


buy love with me and it'll

be happily-ever-after

like i always knew could happen because we're

so close so close so close

to kissing.