Two Days Later and Counting

The glass of water was dry,

just like the little veins that remained

beneath the shattered silk.

Once soft, clean and warm—

Now covered in dirt.

Blurry bees buzzed around my ears,

whispering lullabies that beat the number four.

... Oh, dear! Please, breathe.

Heard them scratch the cells

that host the fetid smoke of the self

for they ought to (re)move the unclear—

Or so some say.

Wished I were the worms that lay below the grass,

fed by such fertilizer leaking from your heart

yearning it would bring you back one more time

... Oh, please! Just once.

I pled to be the water that nurtured your new clovers,

For a world without your soul

is nothing,

but a bore.

... Oh, I just love you so.