I THIS COWARD FROM A CRAWLING GRAVE

My lover dressed in death
calls the curse
that name is given in velvet birth

she scrapes at the rotted wood
scrapes at the thick depressed clay
moving grass sods
emerging dressed as loves
longest day

I answer not
but must soon
eyes drawing the darkest sight
rustling, talking whispering winds
dedicate delusion for my pleasure
spilling saviours blood
its trailing sticky path
crawls insidious in approach

Oh that faulted day
Frozen in staring grief
splayed beneath
a red kites wings

Each blatant hour
Each created farce
this day
this day
Damned again

She spits the rotted soft pulp
she crafts the tacky hated clay
and seals a grassy pact

watched above in marble wonder
cursed from deaths invitation