by Chiara Naomi

The callus on your hand was porous it let in air like morning & the way the dirt grows like lilies around your bones makes me think of burgeoning snow & i wonder if you remember the snow how it jellies on the leaves in a temporary freeze that could not last forever, even though the cold never seemed to end unlike the way in which you left me & could it be that the way you left was also temporary maybe it is just that time has warped slow like how water erodes stone & could it be that you chose to go that you did not want to keep your body alive in the western warmth in the arid storms beneath the canopies of trees, but the thing is is that these smells these sights, they are like the physicality of rhymes & i remember that that is how you would hold me like i was a blooming of your tongue in your mouth in a sound that trickled down from your spine to the ground & what if after all we are nothing but vibratos in bodies & what if death is just another body that we need to feed & what if I have decided that this means you were you weak & what if i am sitting here at your grave & i kiss the grave & i kiss the engraving of your name & imagine that i was able to take in my cheeks at the seams & tailor myself to fit you & what if i said that the reason i miss you is that because while you were living, i never not once had the chance to kiss you.