Reworking of an Emo Poem I Wrote As a Teen

1. A fresh piece of meat floats on a river of blood,
cold flesh swollen with postmortem bravado:

It's easy to be be brave when you're dead -
what do you have to fear?

2. At night, your hands slither down the mountains of my breasts;
our bed is full of oleanders strewn over wine-stained sheets -

purple petals shed like blood or uterine lining,
the brown threads of your hair weaving a nest around my thighs -

I am lost in the shadow of your valleys.

3. The earth is lush as a fine wine,
tinted red like hennaed-hair - my hands

undulating into the softness,
mounds of hair beneath my fingers.

4. The meat is drowning now,
severed sinews sinking into crimson water.

At my funeral: Will you cry, as the meat
of my body sinks into a sexless bed?