When I die, just let my body rot.
So every gust of air on the summer-tide
will hoist me to your presence, bit by bit,
— until with every breath, you’ll memorize me.

When the first light looms without me on your bed,
read my letters out loud…in an over-romantic voice,
— for those words I’ve written will whisper my promises,
and you’ll never hear yourself laughing...again.

But when my heart does not cease from beating,
or if the golden gates of heaven shut before me,
— do not rejoice.
For I will **** myself yet again (even for a thousand times),
just for you to know my worth.