My graves

Visible and invisible graves
That we fall into without hearing
That we build homes in without tasting
That we walk over without shivering

Histories holed up in our heels
Under each step like slipping stones

Give me your hands, love
Hold my graves with me

Let’s pack our graves up
Into each other like
Babushka dolls

Close. Tight
An intimacy that pierces
An intimacy that is perfect in death