Her hands in mine, my life fantasy coming to futuin.

Her skin was a leather that smelled of death and wrinkled like a grape in the sun her brain shrung from her head and glossy eyes that pierced mine as she lay in a bed of wood and dirt. Her burial was all natural, no chemicals, it was a miracle I unearthed her before the minute crawlers completed her decomposion. Colonies of maggots had already claimed her, with my dirty hands I removed hers from mine and plucked them from her molested flesh, they tasted how I'd expected. My lips embraced hers, it was like kissing a vintage reptile couch left to rot for decades. I ran my fingers across her face, feeling each crevace and helped her to her feet. Her bones crackled as she attempted to balence herself. Her hand in mine we walked back inside the farmhouse.

The house was cool and smelled of incense, a kind of bug repellent to protect from the flying ghouls that ravished the sticky summer night. The axe still lay on the kitchen counter, her blood black, crusted on the floor tiles. She stumbled to the soft felt couch and rested, I wanted it to smell nice for her so I lit the citrus flavoured candle, the same one she made before her death.

Ignoring the sweet rotten stench she eminiated, I examined her. Her freckles remained, her thick chocolate hair reducted to mear strings, both traits she'd inherated from her mother. I could tell she'd lost some pigmantatiom, but not enough lost to be percieved as caucasion. She'd grown(shrunk?) a bit bony and her skin was still torn off a bit of her fractured skull from where her brain emerged.

I cupped my hands together, collected the angel hair bits of crown, and stuffed it back into her open cranium. We kissed again, and I wrapped my arms around her bony torso, feeling ribs. We sat there on the couch for a bit, I recalled my week to her, how our animals had missed her. It was beginning to get dark, so we went up the creaking oak stairs to our bedroom. She crawled into the cold bed and I pet her cracking scalp until we drifted to our sleep, an all too familiar feeling for her.

ziz page was created march 14, 2024