your death never leaves
the empty seat next to me
when I let my body remember you
your death doesn’t mean a thing
you lied in superlatives
no emotion seems real
your deathbed is your slaughterhouse
and I stay to soften your loneliness
and I watch your face sinking one into another
I watch you choke, your eyes roll
in the name of something unnameable
on the diluted edge of love
I watch you, in their professional opinion, not feel a thing
Croque-Melpomene 