The Undertaker’s Wife

Does it

bother you, his

hands I mean, the way they

touch and glide, as they have touched

Bodies, death,  and made it new in his way. Do

You think of it at night? The way he breathes besides

you as if – New life he breathed- In a way. And

When he turns to you for comfort, a touch in a

fallen world, do you wonder what he has

seen? And your skin so pale and smooth

does it chill when hands skilled and

deceptive, working against death’s

effects, pull you towards his

chest? For such a life you

live breaking daily bread

in the bitter sweet

shade of death.

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