where perched the fragrant death
that opened with a
pink wing—

we dined,
the hands of mid-evening
on our backs.

the walls of the tomb
hold fine the heat,
encased in white marble.

rose wine on the lips,
and blistered laughter
some tune overfeeding us,
we roll onto
and over ourselves.

as the halo of sun winks,
strokes the lovers coyly—
the songs choke into bloom,
screams quieted in
a velvet noose.

we were happiest dying.

our biles were freesia,
our bloods were sacred.

oh king of kings,
show us the world of light.
oh king of kings,
lay roses on our graves.

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