Refraction.

Rot.

I rest
Upon the dirt,
My head
At the foot of the stone
That bears
Her name;
My feet
Six foot above hers.
I wish
I could be closer,
But I mustn't think
Too much -
I must restrain myself
And think just
Of memories;
Of how things
Were in the past,
Before she was
Cold to the touch,
Possibly falling apart-
Thoughts of the present
Inundate me,
And the imagery
Grows ever more
Macabre.
First it was just
The idea that
Those rosy lips
I knew so well
May have paled,
But now
I know
They must have rotted,
And what of those
Beautiful eyes?
The gaze with which
I fell in love
Can no longer be -
I fear those eyes
Are not even empty now,
But sunken in,
Melted, perhaps...
I convince myself
That I would recognise them;
That if I saw her face
As it is now,
Decomposed and all,
I would remember it.
If I did not,
Could I have loved her at all?
Those hands I held so many times,
Could I
Still have them fit
So perfectly
Within my own?
The curves of her body,
Each beloved feature
Of her face...
Like the warmth of her laugh,
It is no more.
Her life is no more,
But what remains rests
Beneath me -
Enough remains for this place
To feel like home,
Almost like
It did in her arms,
Just colder now;
Always colder.
The graveyard dirt
Turns to mud
As it rains,
And the mud
Seeps into
My skin -
It has crossed my mind
A handful of times
That I am rotting too.
Perhaps soon
I will rot enough
To be placed beneath the ground
I lay upon;
For my name
To be engraved into the stone
That will bear our names.
In death, I have
Convinced myself
That I will recognise her -
What I fear more than death,
Aside from
This empty life,
Is that she
Will not recognise me;
This gaunt mess,
I have fallen
Apart.
I have grown
Cold to the touch,
Bitten lips thick
With scars;
Those are the lips
She once knew so well,
And these bloodshot eyes-
How they have sunken
Back into my head;
They have forgotten
How to smile,
I think.
Should she reach
For my hand,
I fear
That I may have withered
More quickly
Than her bones;
The grey tinge
Of my skin
Might say that I
Have been dead longer than she,
And thus
She may wonder
Where it is that I've been.
I think
I may wonder that too -
I know I have been rotting,
But I don't
Know where.
All I know is that
I am above the ground,
But I ought
To be beneath it with her.