rotting body poem

Don’t give it a Name;
it sits
all we could salvage
laying prim and proper
on the futon;

skin blooming
sallow sands sprouting
corals of color    growing
on stones of bruises
and what we sewed for it is gone
decimated   into the oozing red and pus
turned the heavy, strong bone to clay in our helpless hands
and now we don’t say what it was
don’t humor the rot that remains   with its hosts   Name ;

/

and the soft   flesh  peels
showing red dimensions innards
as the moss soft fuzz   grows in spots
and the smell
hangs
heady
and our noses already forget the perfume she used to wear
as the teeth-numbing decay
se-
-ttles
in the body  she  left behind
the   body   we keep
festering
on
 the
futon
staining us and yet
we can’t stand to  see  her  go;


So
We Are Not Burying It   ;