ode in decomposition

i would pretend
to not hear her
so she
would have to say
my name
make incidental contact
send shivers
of pleasure
down my spine
with the way
her lips and tongue
formed the words
at the touch
of her fingers

so in the
heavy silence
of sorrow
the fear
of clinical necrophilia
has settled
into the fractured
of who i was
when i was
as i find myself
still loving
the corpse
of who we were
when we were
something more
than an ode
in decomposition


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