Labrys

I put my lips to her head — a kiss, wet and dead.
I fell back, my mossy lips — all grit, and full of dirt
and my own block — spinning hurts.

Knees bent and hobbled — choking in the dust
and rot — I steadied myself on the concrete wall.
Sibilant, loud and droning — a body echoes.
I finger, touch, brush — something's off again
too warm and a layer of grime and crust.

Hot and bothered on the floor
I can levitate, I cannot feel my legs, I turn.
Breathing loud on my shoulder.
Limp and stiff. Something's broken.