Thursday, December 5, 2013

even corpses

i don't like to fuck in the winter.

you died, in october, once
and i died with you 
persephone going down into the dirt
her hands stained red, her lips
keening for the sour sweet burst
kissing stained stones
on a road paved with the marble smooth
rocks of all her good intentions

the world grows cold
turns away from the sun
shuns all the things of the sun
skin and heat and explosions
there are no fireworks here
not in december

i grow cold
wrap myself in burial shrouds
of sweater on sweater on sweater
turn away from the living
into your cold arms
like your still chest will shield me
from winter winds

it's the natural order
horned god dies in bloody sacrifice
girls are natural born mourners
we put on black veils more easily than smiles
and when the world turns cold
we turn to crying
to bitter prayers and the preparation
of all men's graves

you were only my excuse
but still
i die with you in october

only the Resurrected spring 
will bring either of us back
when all things turn again towards sun
and all things thaw,
even corpses

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