The moment of your death,
Slammed into an oak tree,
Slammed into a boulder,
Slammed into whatever immoveable nearby object,
That a car could drive into.

The driver, your husband,
Drunk and high,
Loose and livid(ly) screaming at you,
Sloppy spit and curses spilling out,
Were you afraid,
Or was it just another drive home.

The moment of your death,
I was 2,418 miles away,
Naked but for black boots and bruises,
Naked but for kisses and come,
Naked, sprawled face-down,
A hand inside of my cunt,
Waves of come shooting out,
From my heart and belly,
Drenching my boots,
(it was the first time like that for me)

The police said that you took your time dying,
Your drunk husband watching,
Unable or unwilling to move,
Closer.
The landscape full of hard objects,
The tree, the rock, the signpost,
Watching your dying,
And you wrapped around the living,
An animal at the end.

Was that moment of my coming,
Salty come pouring high pressure,
The moment you left – you died?
Both of us let loose,
We who hold so tightly,
Onto our suffering.