I cannot consent to swallow your love cold—
down my throat you pour, I choke.
At five years we left your stranglehold.
From you, my childhood was pigeonholed,
left alone, you couldn’t phone despite us being kinfolk.
I cannot consent…
Don’t bury me in a cemetery
below the pockmarked blocks
that romanticize the forgotten.
Bury me next to an abandoned school
where memories of younger days
mix with decay.
Bury me next to a lighthouse
wherein the dark