This is an amazing poem, but an amazing writer. Please check out his blog.
I murdered you today—in the morning, after picking
out a pair of navy wool socks from my dresser drawer;
I trundled down the varnished steps and
padded across the fitted oak-slat floor
into the open living area with the stained-glass
windows that texture all the ambiance,
where we had built your sickbed out of
rumpled ivory linens, washed daily.
Your body lay in the perfect center: a paperweight,
enhaloed by a broad wet bleed of fever sweat,
hands crossed neatly on your chest, wearing the
death-edge look that plumbs reality’s cracks.
We joined our minds a time and smiled, before I
pressed my palm over those sallow, upturned lips—
the ones that used to be so blush—continuing,
the fingers on my left pinching tight your nose,
sealing with force your breathing holes,
until your skin went pressure white.
I watched the inner electric arc through your
skull orbs; it crackled…
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