The sheets above me 
cool my skin 
like dirt 
on a mad woman's grave 
I rise into 
the moonlight white 
and watch 
the mirror stare 
Pale fish looks 
back at me 
Pale fish that will 
never swim
My skin is milk 
for no man to drink 
My thighs unused 
unclenched 
This body is 
not ready yet 
But dirt waits for no 
woman 
and coins will 
buy no time 
I hear the chatter 
of the bugs. It's they alone 
will feast.