eyes wide like
the moon, eclipsing his ellipses,
warning silences telling her
everything and nothing at all.

he undid the knots in
her spine, slid her out of her skin and
into his unfolding arms, wrapped her up,
tangled her in his tendrils,
their blood mingled and meshed like copper slurry.

she killed him with cancer,
lighting the match, cigarette fuse to the
dynamite in his lungs, tar-minded,
tar-tasting, she had tasted him one too many times.
she grew to love him for his empty body,
malignant malaise.
(the symptoms screamed "addiction! addiction!"
but she couldn't call it love.)

she buried him in a flower bed where
plastic plants grew, bigger and bigger,
she let his stagnant soul's demise ride out
on the back of black swans and
dead doves.
her ghost haunts his body,
and his body is her ghost.