He, donning the
skeleton of marriage,
knelt for her. & they
seeded flowers,
glassy as
a backhand’s kiss,
while the sun hammered
their oyster-breath into
memory. I unwound when
the night cracked open, like
hands against a mouth
whipped into rope.
Here: a ribcage & the stub
of a singed home.
Its ashes shooting
into daisies. Its bones
breaking into earth. The
ruin
blackening by the second.
Because he forgot
to catch the roses
in porcelain
shells. Because he—
because she— because
I fell out of flowers
& they told me it was love.
