I think love smells of hospitals,
white, merciless
and the hands that touch it never come clean again.

I have been a womb for a ghost.
She tapped against my ribs,
asking to be named,
and I fool
open my veins like doors.

How sweet the feeling, like rain on a grave. 
But I didn't smelled the rot beneath it.

Even sunlight can wound, 
but some learn to bleed beautifully
their pain arranged like petals on the water.

And I,
I've tasted the divine, and it tasted ash 
I've kissed the world, turned to ink
I've worn the thunder like a crown

And it ate my sleep

And when the ghost leaves, 
It takes the mirror with it
All that left is smoke and faint outline of face