The Garden

It’s been three weeks to the day
Since last your lips lay upon my heart
Since those thumbs pressed against my bones

And my ribcage aches with the knowledge
That all that should grow in your wake
Shall be fed with the loss of our love.

So while the tendrils tread forth
To permeate gossamer skin,
Their roots will find they cannot breach
The man-made garden of buried bones.

© 2018 Anna Rabinov

4 thoughts on “The Garden

Add yours

  1. Such a beautiful piece! ❤
    Especially the line: That all that should grow in your wake/ Shall be fed with the loss of our love"
    There was so much sorrow and pain seeping out of each word and I think that's what made it so beautiful: the emotion that powered the writing.
    Keep writing with your heart, Anna!
    Looking forward to reading more from you…

    Liked by 1 person

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