Revision 2: The Three Wives of Chuck Taine

[Todd]

Revision 2

I married her after she died 
a widower on my honeymoon—
never something you easily bounce
back from. She told me and
she told me about the android, 
how she had kissed the sun,
and saw herself open:
a blossoming flower,
petals soon blackened to ash.
She had walked together 
then on a field of stars looking over 
her shoulder to where all things end, 
Now she lies on each side of me, 
and I bury her again 
adjusting my shape
to fill the hollow between 
breaths. She draws 
close as she pulls away,
each footfall echoing 
more distant than the last.

Revision

I married her after she died 
a widower on my honeymoon—
never something you easily bounce
back from. She told me and
she told me of the android, 
and how she had kissed the sun 
and opened like a blossoming flower—
till her petals blackened, burned away. 
She had walked together 
then on a field of stars looking over 
her shoulder to where all things end, 
Now she lies on each side of me, 
and I bury her again 
adjusting my shape
to fill the hollow space.
She draws close as she pulls away,
each footfall echoing 
more distant than the last. 


[pre verse]Original

I married her after she died 
a widower on my honeymoon—
never something you easily bounce
back from. She told me and
she told me of the android,
and then how she had kissed 
the sun and opened like a blossoming flower--
till her petals blackened, burned away. 
She had walked together 
then on a field of stars looking over 
her shoulder to where all things end, 
each footfall echoing 
more distant than the last. 

Now she lies on each side of me, 
and I bury her again adjusting 
my shape to fill the well 
of our grief and joy.