She laid the boxes with their corners

Flush with plaster over top; a faux brick finish

And she knows nothing is yet finished

The saline in tears can turn cheap plaster to mud

And rough palms graze more than just skin

Fingers

pressed into my neck

sliding across mahogany

Or cedar with a red stain and clear gloss,

Someone’s loving touch carved a vessel to end humanity

And there are hundreds

                                           Thousands

                                                                        Millions

Enough to corrupt every person twice.

We can’t wait to rip the lids from their bodies.

Blood pools below our fingernails as we tear down the walls,

Ornate details scraping our knuckles red.