I asked him, “Do you love me? ”
His tongue crumbled like cold ash
Eyes faded and blew away
He cleared his throat twice
Trying hard to free the stones
His death mask whispered, assaulting me
Screeching…loud as nails on a chalkboard
And I sat there, pooling in a July drip
Numbly, awaiting the snowstorm
But, before he could recover
I asked him “Could you have loved me? ? ”
And watched as gray bled from him
Dripped from his eyes, off his chin
He stumbled over and over on the flowers of our grave
Tried, but couldn’t cough up the rock lodged in his gut
He couldn’t stroke the petals, or inhale the perfume.
I had my answer, my vision is 20/20
My rose colored glasses tossed aside, forgotten
I had the answer…
I closed my eyes and crawled back into my grave
Pulled the dirt in around me
And waited patiently to die…
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
awaiting the snowstorm, good write, thanks. I invite you to read my poems and comment and vote.