An unusual lover tries to preserve his Great Love. A self-narratived poem of his exploits. |
Her eyes are dark, Her laugh is deep, Her innocence is oh-so sweet. I wish I hadn't killed her then: Took an axe, hacked off her head, buried her, while she still bled. I kept her heart beside my bed; it loves me well, though she's dead. Now I'll always have her love - without her nagging and her itchy perfume smell. Sometimes, I wish I kept her arms as well… So to hold me tight when the nights are long, or to reach the radio when they play our song… I stashed her body 6 ft. deep but at times she still comes in my sleep. She stands before me tall and thin and asks me why I did her in. "You see, my dear" I always say "If there is one thing I've learned so far, it is that to keep a lady's heart you need a jar." To that she never replies. For her, my heart still skips a beat. But her heart, it beats no more. It just sits there full of gore, reminding me of different days. I know she lies beneath the shed, decaying there without her head, though at times I can't but think that this is how she'd choose to be. Her presence is greater than before, in every room and behind every door. Forever together in Marital Bliss. |