Sunbathing

"Sunbathing" - hypothetic**(You can find the audio for this poem at www.myspace.com/hypotheticpoetry

Granulated rock flows smoothly over
Hollow bones
Prying, nestling into spaces where fluids used to be
Only, this corpse is barren, dry
Sold to the sun, it was caught staring
Pupils fixated on the only thing left pure

Calloused finger tips
Leathery from lack of contact
They rub and plead with his interpretation of a crucifix
A miniature time capsule dangling from gold chains around his neck
Had her image been composed of more skin and less paper
He would have worked his way through her make up by now
Down to what truly made her
But he wasn't much an artist and now

Constricting ribs suppress overflowing lungs
There is so much to say, but so little oxygen
In this desert of a sleeping space
And far too much time has elapsed
In this haze, welcomed like his shadow
But you can’t follow what’s behind you

The tongue massages his palate
Reconstructing tastes that used to be familiar
But this wasteland has more than burned his skin
Its charred his very soul
Now confessions are dripping through his pores

He circles pictures in his sweat
Finger painting perfection
Appendages reconstructing her jaw line
And the oh the way her curls would
Rest upon her subtle shoulders
He would even tie her hair into a tiara
But somethings are better left to whispers
Lips far too cracked for speaking
Spreading only to grasp some form of concept

Maybe osmosis could occur on the surface
If her lips were here to shelter his
She would shout some sort of soliloquy
Standing on a soap box
Her figure overcasting his
And he would call her the messiah

But he is reduced to begging now
Kneecaps crusted over by his vows
He recites them to the tune of Job
Shuffling under him they scrape and grind
Against hardwood and better judgment he calls to her
Rushing fingertips to cover leaks and lips
He has spilled a secret

Candid Mona Lisas rest like vultures atop
His dresser and her wardrobe
They begin to circle now
Swooping down, he casts each arm open
They poke and prod
Tearing remnants of flesh from bone
They pause before his eyes
And carefully remove the lids
He must remain a witness

He reaches deep and squeezes
Pushing his last words from the alveoli
He recites the first two things that come to mind
“For God so loved the world”
And
“She will love you when she chooses, it was always on her terms”

He waits
But Edward nor Jesus will cross the threshold
They’ve seen what she has done
and now they wait for him

Only time is left to pass
His face is pressed deep into the hardwood floor
Granulated rock flows smoothly over
Hollows bones
He died here
Alone