guilt grave

we say or do things that are so wrong that there is nothing to forgive. we both know that no confession will dull its scream. you can only surrender to its monster. there is no sun big enough to evaporate the wicked sounds or seconds. there is no sea fresh enough to hide its smell. instead we bet on our death, gulp down the soot and let our organs go black. sometimes there is no way to turn garbage into another thing, and all we can do is pray while we dig it’s grave; bury it in our cherry blood and wait for time to turn it small.

i am staring at our garden from our tea table and it has occurred to me that my love for you is a tomato

that poor little thing was born a carnal globe
little green translucent fetus, a
glossy fish egg out in the world without a scrap of armor

not knowing the world is a war
it grew like that half shell nest
which sits like a feather between two cracker twigs

my love was unashamed, glowing
from its marble brain

--

then its skin thickened around its bleedy fruit
and it woke up to what it could lose

it rubied from embarrassment

over its wealth, the gold in its heart grew deeper and darker and sweeter.

--

then soft again
the skin wrinkly around its throbbing feeling

everything sagging with its full stomached happiness