the sweat from the night has dried to salt on the sheets and we are clean in the white morning light. and i turn your soft body, which folds and plies and the skin sighs defeat and curls in on itself, falls heavily from the bones and burn and we are two bodies of flame, consuming themselves greedily

softer, softer, softer until the weight of the softness cannot be supported, until it falls and rots sweetly, as it was made to rot