there’s something so comforting about feeling your own bones,
will we be together in death?
as we were never in life?
as they return your rose-adorned corpse to the earth,
will my skeletal fingers, extend towards yours?
when they speak of your life,
will they speak of mine?
speak of how i loved you? or of how i let you down?
the roses may grow, may spread, may carve out a path between our beds...