Catherine

Hands, Wrists, Teeth

So ignorant is the sky tonight with its infinite, bright, burning tears.
Openly mocking my inky insides and hollow heart with its bright, brimming sphere.

Fuming, I draw my fingers to my palms- my mighty force turning them sugar white.
Under the dense cloud of my mind, I can see them cozy inside.
Curse the shitting lot of them! Curse their whole shitting lives! Curse whatever deity knitted them together on this shitting night!
Kicking the sand under my feet, I can see her tiny wrists crossing mine- mine: veined and tough, hers: bony and light.
In that charcoal black place, our fingers are interlaced, it's a thought that cackles like a knell.
Nebulous, it chimes to the tune of a familiar rhyme.
Good God it's 'here comes the bride.'

Listlessly, I am lying, my teeth embracing one another,
oscillating backwards and forwards over their partner.
Noble they'll lie there, having terminated the ritual.
Every crown resting in its throne - it's spiritual.
Lines marry stars making constellations in the dark,
yet my line has cut straight through my heart.