Lovebirds need to rest, sanctify this place, this bottomless unhappiness, postmortem rigidity and cold lips, the blue face of eternal slumber and ornate stone box, an unkillable morgue, ancient and hollow daylight-to-darkness among the houses, a slender neck, badly exposed rib cage, bright clouds of purple bruises under the eyes, excuse a blush, the surgeons and their barbaric incisions, a crude Y in the chest, stitch work patterns and red as meat, sanctify the freezing temperatures, the boat tails and scamper of tiny unclaimed feet, the dismembered pieces, faded magpies, the Maker's praise.