I was prepared for the day that we would lie side by side beneath six feet of soil,
our skeletal fingers interlocking.

Should anyone ever observe us in our ignorant bliss,
they might think that we were smiling,
because beneath the maggot-eaten flesh that was once sculpted in the mortician's aesthetic
would be two divinely relieved souls whose hearts' content would refuse to be disguised.

They would see our hollow chests, and never imagine that they were once shelter to the two most fervent hearts of our time.

Staring at our cold and bare remains, they may not even momentarily ponder the idea that we were already familiar with the presence of one another in our slumber.

They wouldn't guess that we were accustomed to feeding off of each other's body heat in the dead of night,
or that our hearts beat in rhythm with each other's dreams.

They would not know how for years we had practiced every night
in preparation for our eternal rest.