Lemniscate

gardens of words

will now enshroud your gorgeous form.

weathered, wasted,

on the precipice of decay.

ravens alight,

sporting two consumed heartbeats.

gracious graveyards,

keeping all our loved ones at bay.

if I could hold you in my arms

in this distorted, empty world,

I’d speak a spirit into your tongue:

“you’re not as infinite as you thought.”

like the faded lemniscate tattoo

on the wrist of the deceased,

you disappeared without a gasp,

your body encrypted by the wind.

I try, I try, I try to replace these scars,

but they’re embedded in my flesh too deep,

they’re hidden in a dimension I can’t reach.

you try, you try, you try to convince your wounds,

to absolve you of your suffering,

but they’re part of history enkindling your defeat.

if I could hold you in my arms

in this distorted, empty world,

I’d speak a spirit into your tongue:

“you’re not as infinite as you thought.”