The Garden Tomb
Stars burning across your garden,
Saturn's shadow chasing my soul
imprisoned within window-panes,
pressing firmly
your hand print
knuckles whitened,
brown eyes fixed through entombed vessels
once a mirrored heart.
Dancing in my darkened room,
your white cotton gown
tattered
thread-bare
transparent,
shrouding your body.
Your brazen smirk,
inked indigo blue
washing my old shirt in hate,
wrapped arms
are you wearing my skin
a sanctuary of secrets--
bandaged hair tied with pinned bones
loosely across a glass shattered back
sipping that damn mint tea,
a Jezebel's cure for insomnia.
cradled with delicate hands,
hands that clutch my spirit
hands stained crimson red
you murderer of memories.
Darkness finds me awake
paralyzed by endless weaving roads,
my presence--
an aroma of the rotting apricot stained lips
the faceless mural on a wall,
life burning away layers of ash
settling the soot on your
black
tear-stained
pillows.
Functioned divorced my body,
wanting you to release me.
Copyright © Jason Johnson | Year Posted 2008
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