To Die

When I sign my body over
and the coffee shops are closed,
when the lights have left the sky
(I know I'll die by night)
you can savour me,
before our love was blind
and was lost
on a hazy dream
or the catch twenty-two
that fed me, dressed me
and laid me to rest.

You can savour our time,
though I don't know much of lust
or grief,
only the bed sheets we shared
and the secrets
between the lines
we held in.

When the black casket comes in,
in it's willow-like glory
and parts of me removed
for recycling,
leave a half-blown kiss
but not a whisper
and never
look with in.

Savour my memory
and our hopes
in the many locked rooms
of your closed mind
and love me
like you never knew love
before.