And rock stars who die young
Are born again,
Their tombs lay empty
Of all except worms.

The skin, newly inked reads;
“Worship me or die.”

I have been here before,
Close to the scent of you,
Your voice like a hummingbird
Against my chest
With stories of dead country stars
And Las Vegas hotel views.
You wrap yourself around me,
Edging inward like a soldier
Looking for a place
To find shelter.
Yes, I have been here before
In this room built from desire
Where we remember our nights
In the Old World
When your hands bled
At the end of the day
And my skin smelled of lilies

And incense.