My Perfect Love

Can I ever watch you sleep now,
And not see ghosts of the dead,
In their slow procession, blank,
And waiting?
Feel your warm belly
And not embrace a chill,
Hear your heart against my ear
And not think of those who
Went to stones in my arms,
Though I begged and bargained?
Are we who love this much,
Always and always to know how it will end?
Must I see that inevitable box of ashes
Everywhere we go,
and know that it is all I get to keep
forever, by your leash and favorite toy?

by Deborah Cameron

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