when she came i knew to expect a kiss, but i was never told of the sweetness on her lips. nor how her eyes would leave me undressed. undone.

i never expected the intimacy of a hand around my soul, and she can see it on my face

so she tells me of how it came to be, and of all the things i’d never see. she says, “decay is just the consummation of life and death, the conception of what’s yet to come”

the flowers by the bed give credence to her words— roses, lilacs, lily grass, bells of ireland, baby’s breath