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The After Party

Mikka Dean


The night is void of noises, bar the owl crunching the vermin,

When the thunder of your footsteps shakes around me like a sermon.

Pry apart my wooden shyness; let the moon expose your sin.

You say you’re here to save me with a preacher’s trusting grin.

Past the pews and down the stairs there waits a secret home you’ve built.

You gently lay my body on an unsuspecting quilt.

The slab is cold, or so I’m told, it gives my bones a chill.

Kiss my cheek before you take a peek inside the still.

Place the straps upon my body, use the scalpel too.

The rust has covered all the pipes, so nothing will get through.

You want a souvenir from me to keep you all the day.

I could have used my heart to love you, why take the thing away?

You rip a page from Proverbs; you fold it tight and square.

Will you tuck it deep behind my mouth, to show me that you care?

Make a clean incision Darling, stitch it up with thread.

Now place the love note in my throat and ideas in my head.

You slowly light the wicks and bring them close so you can see.

If you close my eyes, I can feel your heart beat inside of me.

My fancy husband you will be and I your quiet wife!

I can love you until you die, but you can not love me back to life.