a dead thing lies between us –
            stench putrid, weight
            thick, insufferable,
                its state of decay
            irreversible.

the unalterable truth is this – 
            any bond between us
            requires a reckoning
            of our sordid, 
            squalid past.

but every day becomes like –
            walking in a morgue,
            an unending episode 
            of “CSI,” only there’s 
            no resolution.   

and of the decomposing body – 
            its rancid flesh transforms
            into particles of inertia, 
            suffocating hope
            of proper burial.

grieving the dead thing – 
            our life becomes a funeral
            with unspoken eulogies,
            perpetual regret,
            loss revisited.

reaching across the remains of love – 
            we are forever tainted
            with feel of rot,
            contamination
            of our love.
         

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