Ghazal

I wish to see how the worms will finally unbraid me, my love. Would you let your roots and mine be hopelessly remade me, my love? We could be a single soil, a collaborative rot, so handsome. Think of the strange, pale fungus that would serenade me, my love. Your stillness now is but a rehearsal for the final peace. Don't let the bright, loud world of fools or liars persuade me, my love. My mind is a hive of frantic bees with wings of shattered glass. Your calm is the sweet, dark honey that has always stayed me, my love. This skin is just a borrowed dress, this bone a rented room. I long for the truest wedding bed the earth has made me, my love. Little Varvara dreams of the day our dust becomes one dust. Until then, this devotion is the blade that has arrayed me, my love.