Alexander,
From the pits of my grave I write to you.
These moist, dark walls of dirt remind me of
Your intricate beadwork, how they fall in line
like ants skulking through my thighs.
Your suits draped in tailored tulle
form the satin walls of my coffin,
Pouf skirts run about as if to bring volume to
this crumbling carcass of mine.
This glass encasing are
molten adornments of your muses,
I envy them bejeweled
Of your craft, your art.
You rely on art for sanity,
I rely on my sanity for my art.
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