Imagining Her Insides

There is skin
and muscle and bone,
the walls that contain her
are most pleasing to the eye.

The lacy filigree of blood,
red swirling rococo
from her toes to her tongue.

Her heart, that mighty engine,
pulses like a fountain
in the courtyard of her ribcage.

Her brain is a maze,
I wander through the hedgerows
and pause to admire
a most beautiful thought.

As perfect as Versailles,
she turns to see her reflection,
and frowns.

heavenly creatures go home early

they fade like the moon
pale faces resting in death
such beautiful girls

elegant sadness
is the art of young ladies
who wish to vanish

and here I remain
ordinary but breathing
too ugly to die

we are ghosts

what remains of us?
words float away on radio waves,
circling your heart like a school of fish.

where do we go?
we are the final trick in the magic show,
you fold into a box as softly as a dove.

and when we love,
does it live on?

beyond the now,
the echoes sound
a million hearts
are beating out

and haunting
every living lover.

who lives in us?
I know the song your soul is singing
we are ghosts of a past, remembering.

what remains of us?