I stood on the edge of a cemetery.
I thought you’d push me, toward something,
Drowning into you, falling over you.
My body felt still and I heard you rummaging.
I smelled your breath within me.
Your shudder in my hands, I carry the old
And the burdensome, your bones, and your
Blurred memories. I absorb them, my tongue
A shovel. Digging in, into you, swallowing you.
And I feel the pores of death opening.
I think that if I take a step in any direction
I’ll perish because I’m held by your embrace.
Any gesture is misinterpreted by you, twisted and torn,
Hostile. I stop breathing because I don’t want to offend.
I melt my form, my lungs, my air, and dive into you,
Hiding, disappearing, forgetting my name.
“Portrait of an unknown woman in a Blue Dress with Yellow Trimmings” by Fyodor Rokotov (1736-1808)