Myrna.
Tattooed Goddess.
Biting deep an apple.
Its juicy tang, the fruited pang –
She’s gone.

Deadly.
Modifier
making suspect the day.
I wish I was born inside you—
blame god.

Obit.
Morbid pasttime
checking papers for you.
Come back to me in the morning
though dead.

Blame you.
Dusty corners,
swept aside in a jiff.
I wish I were with you now, love—
buried.