Temper

A flat bench,
the breach
of form, as she
whispers – eyes
wrenched inward –
she prays to the body.

The form is simple,

undergrad worthy,
lying still, parallel
with the floor.

The dead lips are knotted
together, her eyes
wear silk lashes
like jewelry, the
powder

covers her face. 

A girl sits, praying,
by the altar. 



~Hammeh