As I Lay Dying
Linda Crate
you danced upon the embers of my
breaking heart, charred black-red like
the feathers of a dying cardinal; you
told me honeyed lies that dripped from
your tongue like dew from clouds, the
moon silver paraded them as truths;
you were colder than a winter’s night
lit with no star or moon; the opaque
obsidian swallowing me up into void --
I was too bruised and broken to stop
it, as I lay here dying; I see your smirk,
I drag you under the waves of the water
with me; I will not die your mistress, I
will not be the woman that dies alone.