Her Burial Site

Staring at her photograph on her tombstone,
I'm hit by nostalgia and transported back to her life—
34 years, two months, and 11 days of vibrancy,
now frozen in time.
Her energy and grace live on in my memory,
despite the two decades that have passed.

Her children chose burial over cremation,
and as I stand by her grave,
I'm struck by the reality of her physical decay beneath the earth.
I can't help but think of what must remain—
a skeletal echo of the person I once held close.
Teeth, hair, perhaps some stubborn fibers of the clothes she last wore.

Thinking of limp bones lying inside of that stale air,
I recall her strength and the love we shared.
Oh, to feel her piston-like pelvic thrusts as she sought to satisfy her insatiable desires.
Her appetites were a force of nature,
and I was one who had the honor of feeding that hunger.

But now, all that remains is silence.
No more hunger, no more desires,
her body a testament to time's unyielding march.
But in the quiet of this place and in my heart,
her spirit remains as vivid and joyous as ever in my mind.