Mother is at six feet below.

When you die, I'll be there.
When I die, I hope you do, too.
I sometimes imagine everyone
joining revelry while we lay in our
beds, watching Time and Space.

It'll be our funeral, yes.
If you die, take me with you.
So selfish, so self-centered,
it's what I deserve, it's what I crave for.
Your body, your soul, you.

So lonely our funeral will be,
no one mourning us, while watch
Time and Space together.
Isn't that wonderful? Consumed,
turned into dust, together.

Oh, where are you? Neither of
us is dead. But we will, someday.
Lingering fingers, sitting on grass
patches and saying life sucks.
Will it be good to attend our funeral?

So I say, we'll be burnt together,
in a giant bonfire of things lost and forgotten.
Spread, then, into the windy nights of some
mid-summer days, returning to our Mother.
It'll be fantastic.

You and me.
Forever.
Together.
In Death.