with mother's eyes - IV

"I love this in you,"
she says,
holding that thing
that once pumped
in your core
before
they tore
it fluttering
from your chest.

"I love this in you,"
she says again,
tracing her fingers
along the tissue.

a tear draws along
your cheek
in the calm,
wicked night
when the loss
of hurt
dwindles
at your
lips.

she swallows the
once beating
thing
and pulls
you close,
touching your cheek
with her own,
and kisses away
the
last of you.

"You were always with us,"
she says. "You were always
this way,
laying prone
on an alter
of stone,
of old blood
from every death you've
ever endured
at our hands, and I love this in you."

your mouth is a whimpering
voice,
unable to form
the syllables
to set the fire
in your
disposed heart,
eaten so many times
you've lost count.

"We'll set the darkness
free
from you. We'll touch a part
of you
you never knew.
We'll bring you
to the light of another
day
so when the night takes flight,
we might
play
where you let the misery stay.
And again
And again
And again
until there is nothing
remaining in you."

"My love is of this
which
you let drain from me,"
you say. "And every
day
is the same
as you bleed me
from myself.

the sun takes away
the death
and leaves
a faint breath
caught
there
where you frown,
where you drown
from time to time
in swinging mercy
that never holds.

lashed to the alter,
you await the night
without fight
for the soul
you've lost
without cost
but to a kiss
that's always coming
to kill you.

the moon rising
slow
across
black.

a tuft of cloud
spreads against the yellow
and smooths
like drawn cotton,
bleached like bone,
torn like
tears.

and the chanting begins.