there are shades of pink
blanketing underneath
the fallen tree: cherry
blossoms convert
the insipid—
i want to handle
the trunk of his body
somehow finding myself
in his dead rot wood.
i collage the petals
on my tongue
& feel them curl
on my saliva.
i deposit my fingers
between the cracks,
his brokenness
still raw,
& negotiate
along the splinters.
his sap, still oozing.