Brianna Washes a Corpse

Brianna had, for a very short while

Grown used to her lying there

Cold and inert

Icily icy, chillily chilled

To consider they had once lay side by side entwined

Had kissed, licked, sucked and fingered every hole they had

Orgasms noisily shared that made Brianna feel oddly invincible

Their love impregnable

And now the other before her.

In the kitchen there was a reliquary air

The darkness illuminated by patches of candlelight

It was the wolf hour after all

And to think the mottled stranger in repose had been an angel when the sun was hottest

Did you love me did you love me did you love me

Now a rapidly cooling body on top of a steel gurney.

Brianna dips a sponge into a bowl of soapy water and washes the neck

Sluices the big pneumatic tits that seemed almost reproachful

Wipes the face clean of vomit and spittle

Caresses the track marks on the inner arms

Tears absently flow down Brianna’s cheeks.

One of the stranger’s hands are contorted and hanging idly

The hand twisted as if delivering an admonishment

Violet lips refuse to return her smile.

The stranger had once been golden but had gone white so quickly

It’d go black and pulpy soon in this heat

So Brianna needed to work efficiently

Even though she felt bent of shape.

Brianna holds the stranger’s stony hands

Strident white

The hands seen from above

As if viewed by something unseen and strangely intangible

Now resting on the pubis

Dead still to be sure

And Brianna releases a bright freezing scream of laughter

Her eyes rolling like mad marbles

What visions she can now see in the shadeless dark

The secrets of melancholy arts

Of the other being returned to her

Through necromancy

In what state she couldn’t fancy

But now the possibility exists

And then. And then…and then.

Brianna dares to eat a peach

Dead fingers talk

Brianna chokes and knocks over a candle

An eye

Stark and staring

Balefully regarding her from the cunt of the other.

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