Photo by Ruslan Valeev on Unsplash

I told the mortician to mix
our ashes I wish to see
you as a speck of sand maybe
a fistful of waves gnashing until white

stone all the lilies bursting
from this rapture your opal lips
shiver like two harp strings I pluck

a symphony from the sea
prances everywhere grief whittles
the salted air drunk seals
press our shadows to sand
I think of folding our bodies

with the sky open these scabs
flaring like matches
ruby in the rain pitter-patter
you say it is the mortician nailing

our coffin shut how I hope
they spill our secret to the locusts
wooing their lovers from our throat