near his heart

He worshipped her -
but never said.
Photographed her -
secretly.
Had them ranged beside his bed.

Three times life size
her torsos stood,
lolled, twisted
into shapes he'd fantasized.

Marshmallow flesh,
her favourite sweet.
Pure white or pink
but stalked the way a fungus is.

Half life size
soft focus limbs
swallowed by a background haze.

Smaller still the tiny heads -
sponge again
puffballs he said
eyes half closed
and vulva-like.
His montage built with... what?
He called it love.

The day he called
to take her out
he found her gone,
her and the
family moved on.
The house the emptiest of shells,
an echo chamber full of boom
echoing his empty thoughts.
Hollow thoughts
that boomeranged.

He hurried home.
Then round
(in truth, just on)
his favourite neck
(the stalky one belonging to
her revelling in snow)
he super-glued
the thin wire noose
he'd carried near his heart