We find peace in cemeteries,
severe paths leading to
shaded plots of land
under hazy streetlight –
take my hand,
tell me you love me,
make me feel it, damnit,
because you look cold and
dead, like the ones buried below,
worms crawling from
your sunken eye-sockets,
my beautiful, dead bride
marked with my name.
(Photo by Rade Šaptović on Unsplash)
3 responses to “A Grave with My Name (a poem)”
[…] stayed there for about an hour, digging up the grave. But instead of unearthing the coffin, he tossed Hadwin’s lifeless body in the hole, and then he […]
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[…] to me. Others have rebuked me for my twilight walks, stalking among the graves, but I ignore them. The gravedigger works overtime every night; I’m not sure if he’s dead or alive. I see him digging these deep […]