Allison Morris #29 'If You'

Tonight, if you

crawled, clawed your way

out of your dark grave,

and came to me,

I would stroke the dirt from your

beautiful, decaying face.

Kiss your forehead, 

grassy and rank,

and haul your precious bones 

into my lap,

humming with love.

And should the grave call you back,

too far from me–

again–

this time I would follow.