me and you, my dear.

What an incredible poem….

Be Your Own Chronically Ill Self

my dear,
no capital letters tonight.
there is not enough strength
in my body, for full sentences
and
correct grammar.
 
my stretched arms play,
sweetly caressed by daffoldils and daisies,
making me giggle.
death sorrounded by life.
irony, you would say. next to me, laid here,
my dreams shape you in my mind – would
you
stay there with me and talk about all those
things we have spent writing about?
 
love,
death,
illness.
 
would you mind spending those hours
together,
talking, arguing, discussing? would you
look at the gravestones with me, smelling
their memories? filling their never-ending
lives, listening to their untold stories?
 
would you, my dear,
spend time with me, filling our lives, with death?

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