I am dreaming of you again.
Of the sticky mess your blood would leave
on my hands; how it might taste if I licked it off.
There is a darkness in me that is greater
than the darkness in you. I’ve had practice burying it deep.
You just let it free.
I’m going to carve this story into your bones,
dig you a shallow grave in centralia where the fire is low
and slow and will burn you to cinders for another fifty years.