Confession

Again I carry the carcass.

It has been rotting so long
over my shoulder, my head
deep inside the cavity
where this animal's heart
used to beat,
that I haven't even noticed
it is no longer a living thing.

I spent so much time counting
each bone in her ribcage
as I have done over and over
for the past three years
(just to make sure it stayed the same)
I didn't even notice
when she stopped breathing.

I carried on with her skin.
It kept me warm, and I didn't mind
it decomposing over my own
until the moment it ceased
to cover me. No safety
guaranteed in love.

And in death I walked again
the streets we walked together
watching each moment
with the brutal honesty of the light
people say they see
when they come back to life.

I saw the moment I left her there
in the French cafe on Abovyan street
like a reckless driver who won't even stop
to check on the being I hit.

I have no words to say.
I am afraid I killed
the animal that lived in my soul,
as I have killed any animal that dared
to venture deep enough to discover
I had one.