DEATH Poem: no rocks in my pocket, by Beril Karanfil

with your hands that are mine
drag my warm body into a lake
naked heals plowing the mud, i’m still awake
submerge me gently while i’m wearing your dress
pastels and summer, repetitive flowers
clean my sins with passion, baptize me with death
i’m John, i’m first, i’m a fair breath
the water is a cold bed, but your locking grip
is safe, but anxious to wash the words on my lip
it’s a shrift between two foreigners, no common language
i scream while water fills this mortal carriage
while you open my rib as a rite of passage
gutting this fish with a prayer made of whispers
i bleed into your nails, now this becomes your canvas
my eminence, cut away this cancerous psychosis
take away this sinking ship, this belligerent mortality
drown me in these black waters
or be my witness and drown with me

Author: poetryfest

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