Bones and Flowers

My bones keep your name where the earth cannot reach it.

Rain enters the grave. I taste you in the soil.

What remains of me will bloom into flowers in your hands.

Time rots above me; your scent still breathes through the dirt.

I leave one half of the dark untouched, an altar no shadow may claim.

Our bed is an ossuary, its sheets laid with my bones.

When the world is finished with you, come beneath it.

I will not leave this dark. Not until your ghost seeps through the dirt and my grave drinks it down.