Poetry

It was unbashed invasion,
and then you were paraded naked.

The marrow was depressed.
I will not be able to collect you.

Lost in thoughts, I
am losing you in every book.

There was no striving,
to be called by any name, any monument.

Hyperplasia. The rot has set in
Would you come to greet the death one day?

There was a speaking ache.
Word was me, I was the tongue.

The turgid lips still remember.
Once the sting was here to take a kiss.