What is the opposite of grief?
You were not meant to slip back
into life, shaking the grave dust
from your hair. I cannot kiss a mouth
that tastes of copper pennies,
or wrap cool arms around my neck
still bound in yellowed linens
as waxed and cloying as liquorice.
Do you feel the darkness when you sleep
or was it a skipped beat between
breath and breath? I lost a lifetime
to those days and you are so the same
your stillness seems like death
held back with silk. I cannot love
for love unhooked from loss is nothing more
than bodies in the night. We are both undone.
Eloise Stonborough  is a poet living in NYC.