"Richard?"
"Yes, Kasandra?"
"Why can't I feel you?"
"Because we are dead, my dear."

"Oh..."

Today, I didn't miss you.
I laid in bed, and thought of the outside world.
My favorite spot on the creek.
The hill where I want to build a house.
The type of person I want to be.
The places I want to go.
The family I want to raise.
And the man I want to marry.

But never a thought of you.

Time and time again it seems
The heart was made to cry and scream
And though our weary eyes do gleam,
We sleep alone again

I am alone again in the dark.
I can smell the scent of my own fear.
My heart in cinders melts out from my chest,
If you were to touch me right now,
We would blend into one.
But you do not,
As you have not,
for such a long time now.
I never expected it to be fair,
But how perfect if it had been.
If our own disfigured selves were fit together,
Puzzle pieces that had gone missing suddenly found again,
Filling up the obnoxious gaps present in our lives,
Our picture completed,
leaving us in complete happiness.

The air has begun to adopt that
damp and coppery hint of decay,
every breath a syrupy drop of autumn.  
Each morning
the chorus of birds that greet the rising sun thins,
its members gradually cashing in on their accrued vacation time
and jetting off to winter homes in Florida.  
Tourists.
All birds are tourists.
They won't be here to see the snow
turn to viscera under the tread of our lesser travels.
  No,
they'll be tanning by gated watering holes,
discussing the downward trend in early worm returns.