your face was threadbare tree’s comfort.
yellow windows, cracks running down,
crumbling.  plastic flowers were knuckles
at your breast.

silencing scarves tacked to your throat.
words succumb to drowning, and rise and bloat.
you. on the plates of dismembered dinners.
you. neglected, a fractured bedroom door.

Your face was a fogged mirror.
microscopic splinters, sewn together,
macerated, spliced anew with shriveled
bones of lachrymal mothers.

handkerchiefs hang from our wrists.
bruises from binding tongues on your fingertips.
you.  extinguished and combusted.
you.  a corroded, door-hinge vision.
    
your face was a cigarette, wasted to the wind.
ash languishing, balled-up grime under fingernails
digging, burning to pieces.  We land in the water.
Mother-Daughter. deadfall bonded. bloodless green.