I cast the bones to the bed
And expect to see a future for me,
For us, for love.
A twisted necromancy this is,
Body after body, moan after moan,
Turning into whispers of promises unsaid,
Delusions felt because I always assume
That where there is pleasure there is home,
For at least a moment, a vision, a sunrise.
I pump, I dig, I frack for the thinniest stream of promise,
Clean oils lubricating slippery goodbyes,
Hope of the night incinerated by the flame of dawn.
Submerge me in a bath of ashes,
A graveyard for stillborn romances,
Of loves almost to come, crowning jewels for the heartbroken,
Reigning loneliness in a kingdom of one.
In those bones I see no future,
Simply the dried marrow of wistful affections
Presented in a kiss.