When i’ve had my last
lay me down gently
in the cold earth
I want to rest
under the old saman tree
in my childhood house
I used to want to be
anywhere near her

but my grave
will be no third wheel
and every feeling
that has stained
my rotting skin
and bones
will seep into the dirt
and flowers will blossom wildly

and someday
from the roof of hell
that lay above
someone will be looking at them
colorful and delicate and full
and not even realize
that there are staring at
a physical manifestation of my love