the sound of the mahjong tiles falling
cold and heavy where the coffins float
unleashing demons from the shadows deep
haunting the night’s addiction
whispers curl through lacquered bone and air
hands unseen still call the losing throw
fate clicks softly in the darkened room
and no one dares to fold
a snuff of pause between cold breath
unwilling to sniff ash filtered scent
clinging to the tiles of heavy bones
with the river pauses to rush
the ribs unseal their guarded chamber
and what was kept rushes out
tiles answer with a splitting cry
bone on bone, the verdict cast
we were not meant to endure
this open wound of love
this salt-scarred window
where your breath still stains
the mark enters the bone and alters form
no longer the hand that cast the throw
I rise remade within the wound
and wear the shape love chose
Oh, yes! I can hear the mahjong, teetering and falling…listening to mummers.
This is good. even though it was out of your comfort zone you both pulled it off.
Amazing collaboration you two. Appreciate you both.
Damian