Nyx

I told her I didn't love him
– so what if he died –

– so what if he suffered
from the herb overdose

knowing full well of his weak-immune.
Nobody would guess; not even she

whose eyes never miss a whisker
turning in the breeze; sharp-twitched

ears complementing her sightless
glare – nobody knows what she saw

– nobody could guess –
He made my world end,

I told her. I died everyday:
my body fragrant lily-of-the-valley;

his hands made my skin brown
but nobody would believe he ate

my stem like marrow leech
– it had to be done – so what

his skin browned darker than mine,
and fell off his flesh exposing veins;

but she saw me crush his life
by care entrusted onto me;

he enjoyed watching me in love
– so what the pretence I skilled,

Nyx

I told her. She has been watching
me since his funeral – vines on grave

keeping him locked. My beauty
reviving; she sees through his blame

I deserve to be punished
– she can't guess what I stir

into her bowl everyday –
four-legged sympathy

purring incessant dirge
by his grave. I tell her everyday

so what if I do what I do:
so what if I am not stopped –