I’ll love you both before and after death.
She rots like a November blackberry.
The churchyard’s ruined but he’s in no hurry,
he gives hours to her because she’s barely drawing breath.
Still she desires him passionately and pleasure makes him gruff,
his coat protects her from the cold, the sharp rain flurry:
I’ll love you both before and after death.
She rots like a November blackberry.
Her carpet is rotted poplar leaves, her flowers are thistle fluff
umbels of parchment, one red leaf left on a tree:
he kisses and drinks her tears, tears make her ghostly
she suffers in the shine of sunset, suffers both gnats and moths:
I’ll love you both before and after death.
