Necropolis, a poem by Kristin Garth

*published on Mooky Chick*

​

You gained admittance like a ghost.  Gashed gauze

of girlishness; it tore you, too — almost.

Transmuted flesh to memory, a sawed-

off sympathy inside my innermost

necropolis of buried flesh — mound

of bones without an exodus.  Mass grave,

marauders, matchstick men, communal sounds

of summoning in skin.  You sought to save

me for yourself, to exorcise what haunts

my mental health, my hollows where you float

& hide — your human residue of wants

reside.   A sarcophagus devoted,

you alone, renovated while you roam,

a haunted brothel made vacation home.