bury me in Pompeii

I’ve always wondered at the horror in their eyes when they look at me; 

why do they not have the paths burnt into my skin? 

Is love not supposed to be tears of acid,  

sinking into flesh,  

so that their birthplace is not forgotten?

(is this not what they meant when they said love is eternal, permanent, unforgettable?)  

When they said love makes you breathless,  

did they not mean from the weight of iron lungs? 

From the gravity of bones carrying your presence wherever I go? 

If they didn't mean hollowing out my heart and  

tossing out its insides to make room for more of you,  

what did they mean? 

Mount Vesuvius; 

my line of sight is Stygian. 

Is it because all I’ve ever seen and known is you? Is it simply because the sky has chosen to embrace

the innards of the earth?

Mount Vesuvius;

I grasp at the sparks that drizzle, I kiss the scars they leave behind.

I claw for the molten gold that flows (what is obsidian, if not the preferred adornment of the

damned?).

Mount Vesuvius; 

I skirt around it 

everytime blood fills my mouth,  

everytime they drag my limp soul 

over the gravel of us,  

towards the cobblestones of reason.  

I leave a streak of red behind, 

hoping you follow me,

hoping you never see it.