With a cigarette between my fingers
and flowers bound up in her hair
dry morning bathes us
in the claw-foot tub. Asphyxiation
by drowning. This dawn welcomes us
to another side. Every bird lies
belly up while critters walk the wire
between worlds. The cracked abalone
gives its water. So floats the lone skiff,
her satin dress. Ashore, bodies bait the sun.
And if this afterworld could turn us
back, resurrection might seem less
magnificent. Like impossible succulents,
meaty vines, we soak in every drop.
And intricate systems pump life
through arterial hoses, strain veins
to their splitting point. And our hearts
bloated with intuition and lava
burst from the surface. All that ash
and pitiful flame. All our parched bits
smothered by smoke. Bury us
in this world after. Lock us into lucid rock
and porous memory, capturing
heat, old worlds, and mineral.