Your hands felt like my own skin.
I couldn't tell
if you were dead already,
or if it's just heavenly
being around you.
Your happiness radiating
and your face,
with the sun looking at it through the shades
one last time before you're burned
and urned to be spread among the rocks
without your name in stone,
it was blinding me.
I couldn't bare to look.
But now,
it's hard not to see you.
What's after death?
Phone calls on seashells
without having to let it ring,
I'll always pick up immediately.
Our connection will resemble rain.
When my life gets cloudy,
you'll come down to help me.
You've always been there.