ROMANCE Poem: Two Roses in Their Coffins, by Jorge Alatorre

No words, no map, just static in my veins.
I keep questioning what I’m feeling.
Confused and lost, I reach for my only truth,
you, still lying next to me.

I curl beside your stillness,
trace your lips and paint a smile.
I press my ear to your chest
and pretend the music isn’t gone.

Just whisper that you’ll stay,
tender and soft, like the strokes
you once gave. It’s all I need
to keep from breaking tonight.

I’m terrified to leave your side,
to let my world frost over.
To walk away from this bed now,
means admitting this is the end.

I’ll spend the rest of my life
chasing a shadow of you.
A shell no one could ever match,
a shrine no one could live up to.

I keep trying to shake you awake,
but your eyes stay sealed.
I’m not sure how many more prayers to say,
or how many ago I should’ve lost faith.

And still, you’re beautiful.
Even as your skin hardens to wax,
even as your scent sours to sweet decay,
you’re still beautiful.

But the sheets grow stiff where you lie,
and the air swells with absence and flies.
I count the flies like they’re our children.
One lands on your cheek, I think it’s kissing you.

I dress myself in the stench of grief,
pull your lips to mine. “You’re freezing,” I break.
I scream until my throat splits,
but you don’t even flinch.

On this night, if I had a blade,
I’d slice my veins for the chance to reunite,
smiling as our blood braids me back to you,
a crimson thread no death can cut.

They’ll find us this way:
two lovers curled like rose petals in bloom,
one long gone, and one
who simply couldn’t let go.