Telling a lie

Your spine slouched
Like the curve of my palm.
I cupped your tears,
Each minute earth
And took them home with me,
Digging my fingernails into
Their sides,
Shoving them forward into
The caves and valleys
Of my lined and displayed
destinies.
The dog kissed my fingers
Solemnly when I entered
And her red bowl looked
So empty in the shadows,
I felt a rush of cobwebs at
My heels and your tears
Fell onto her lips as quickly
As if I had tipped over a bowl
Of milk, creamy, translucent,
Mingling with the tile,
Lost in the grout, staining, cold,
Detached. Your mouth was
Like a cold brand on my lips,
Blue and whispering darkly,
The wind blowing from the
Enclaves of your fingers,
Rolling like the curves
Of your bodies,
Great tracks of land
I devoured and scorched
With my love. You fell too
Late onto the heaps of bodies
I trampled, the holes battered
And drilled, leaking plasma
And empathy and you yelled
At me, your lips so rasping
I could hear the magnetic
Pull of the atoms trying to collect,
But falling into a fizz,
"How could you do this to me",
without question, without the old
look of power, I got up, shifted
my handbag, pulled the heel of
my shoe back up, and breezed out
the door. The dog licked
my fingers, blessed are the,
blessed are the, and the tears
of your earths spilled
onto the tile,
as delicate and silent as death.