Silt

 

It is silt. 

  Treacherously thick and weighted. 

I can smell the rich damp 

  stuffed into my nostrils. 

The dark of earth tightening my insides. 

 Wrenched up, gut and core; 

  Concern. 

                 Fear.  Treacherous fear.

The kind that rolls over ships 

  and brings in torrential hurricanes. 

My under skin, 

  Just beneath the flesh...

  Is tight with it; 

 Your love is making me sick. 

Sick with the weight, 

  Of such a Rich silt, 

Soaked now more and more of my tears...

  While I spring them, healing. 

Sick with the earth sinking me in. 

  Sick with your love. 

Not because, oh not, 

  Because of any sin 

You have rendered; 

   Rather sick with the despair 

Of Love's decimation 

  And that's the promise to me 

     It keeps. 

It is not you.  

  I am sick trying to keep myself above ground...

For you. 

  Because I can not lose you- don't want to. 

I can not drown here. I can not choose to be on my own. 

To do so... a slap in the face 

  Of any God's left, 

That set YOU before me. 

  So I sit 

   In it. 

The weighted destruction 

 Of love 

Grown in me

  Silt taking over my body, 

Cordyceps birthing out of what's left.