love is an act of un-doneness

I love you in all ways that would horrify the livings. Never softly— I love you in ways my body will refuse to be buried six feet under, where my unfinished feelings keep tapping against the coffin lid. My love is unresolved, my love will never learn to rest Death will try to silent me with the language of worms, fill my lungs with soil but my hands— they will never learn restraint. My mouth will…