I was never a spy
in your house of love
rather here
in this room of death
where the heirs
have carboard ears
filled with
amplified whispers
circulating orbs
flickering light
reflects
I hold a wake
beside emptied
dark green bottles
eros still rattles
our broken bones
hisses through
absinthine ash
you are my martyr
I have become
a shrined concubine
dancing tightropes
towards the music
of his knuckles
each origami pattern
violet violence
brings turmeric
twilight
where we mimed our love
gestating beech mothers
hold out their arms
if we close our eyes
how then can pain
ask for forgiveness
praying mantis
I ask of you
upon each tendril
trauma escapes
we will never learn
to trust an eagle
how to listen
through the antlers
of
a
deer