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  • Category: Community Poetry
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Planted with the roses

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movements of your tiny body

So perfect.

The past three days

small speckled narcotics for the pain

claimed it was old blood and that was good.

catatonic.

small heartbeats flutter

but no longer magical:

For they are my own quickened and nervous-

Pulse racing: pounding.

The last three days

You came with the passing,

Every finger and toe, formed.

Broken.

My enternal core shattered,

as you laid to rest on satin,

Your face, your arms, your hands,

Looking at beauty wilted,

Genetic defects?

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Terrifying. I don't know what to say... I hope that you are okay...

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