love is an act of un-doneness
I love you in all ways that would horrify the livings. Never softly— I love you in ways my body will refuse to be buried six feet under, where my unfinished feelings keep tapping against the coffin lid.
My love is unresolved, my love will never learn to rest
Death will try to silent me with the language of worms, fill my lungs with soil but my hands— they will never learn restraint. My mouth will never forget your name, a shape it once learnt and never will forget.
My hands will claw through the silence, because it never learnt belonging, because my love is an act of un-doneness, because loving you was never a gentle act. Because loving you is about recognition, never survival.
That is what it likes to love you. Death can take my breath and body away but it will never kill what I've decided is home.