Tysha's love

I love you
rancid, rotten.
I love you
musty, moldy.
I love you-
oh, fowl the stench.
Under earth
in Sunday’s best,
you rest.
Dreaming not,
silent lay
your chest.
I love you
skin is slipping,
in putrefying brew.
I lay down...
on top of you
I love you.
Sobbing,
I dig deeper;
nails packed
with the earth.
I am witness
to the ground
as it gives birth.
I love you.
I love you.
You take my hand
in mushy rot
pulling me to you.
I understand
no matter what
I love you