Your Bones Are Worth More Than My Sanity
By: Caitlin Shannon
Every time I touch your face
it crumbles away into black dust
as if time itself is grabbing your cheek from between my fingers
and dragging your consciousness far from me.
You didn't seem to be hurt by it on that first day,
you only saw the horror in my eyes when I felt your skin peel and rot from amidst my living flesh.
I quickly pulled away when I touched your hand for the first time, and you asked me why.
But I couldn't tell you that when I grasped your fingers
they withered into black shreds and fell away.
It's been years now, and I still haven't told you that I've woken every morning to your dry and dusty bones
with skin and tendons pulled apart.
I've seen how your face will look when you are dead,
ten years underground.
You want me to stay close and keep holding your hand
and in a sick and twisted way,
I've fallen in love with how your bones will look when you're gone
because now I know how you'll look when you have returned to the earth you were born out of.
I've become accustomed to your bones and withered skin,
for they are just as beautiful, if not more,
simply because they remind me how little time I have left to hold you in my arms.
"Could I? Should I?" by:
Christina Howe