Sepulcher - Kristin Garth

I’m bones beneath your buried breaths.  Our vault 
of ink bequeaths a dozen deaths.  You cut
me in our currency.  A shank, assault 
syllabic, dissects veins emptied. Your slut
cadaver cannot shut you out.  Through page,
our slab, you stroke a skeleton devout. 
My sockets slick with sympathy.  Your rage 
a specter, sentient without pity. 
It haunts in hostile homilies.  Our grave:
redundant, symbiotic agonies. 
The cruelest cuts, for books, we both shall save.
Our heat you heighten with hyperbole;
we’re bound in leather for eternity.

Originally published by Moonchild Magazine

Kristin Garth is a womanchildish Pushcart, Rhysling nominated sonneteer and a Best of the Net 2020 finalist, the author of THE MEADOW (a novel from Alien Buddha Press, October 2022) and 26 more books of poetry and prose.