IN BLACK AND WHITE
Sleep followed. All I can remember
Is the insignia, carpets of colour undone
To reveal the restless roots that once gave birth
To a dying tree; bark brown as hidden praise
And its leaves wet with sullen whispers
Of an expired promise. I do, I do.
I wish I could take them back, the words
That have haunted me ever since, wedding
Bells crashing into powdery tufts
Of loosened hair. His face pressed against a sky
Of fevered tulips, mine; perhaps
It was for the best. Perhaps, like all broken marriages,
Ours was too early. Too slow. Already dead.
Whitish sheets soiled with blood, the seal
Of an erudite love- faded, unpardoned, and yet beholden
To new life in my navel, its only beckonings those
Of ruin. Your father is still asleep.