Thirteen ways of looking at your corpse

My hands shaking
In blunt honesty of the moment
You are lying in front of me with a bullet in your love
If you were actually dead
It would be easier
But right now there is only me and the smell of your death
in my nostrils

The flowers on my table
Are still fresh and still alive
Are you?
I’ve colored my hair and I’ve colored
My sentiments in black
Since we last met. Now they match the color of your skin.

When I kiss you goodbye
You let your smile become a memory
Although I know exactly why I will meet you in hell
Because my cancer wouldn’t stop in front of God

I sit by your side in the morning
And you sing me the song your mother used to sing you
When you couldn’t sleep
But right now I am falling to the kingdom of Morpheus
And your death cannot stop me from that

A cup on my night table
Is empty
It was full yesterday when you were dying on my arms
And now the one who is empty is you

And when I laugh at your weird hairstyle
The priest looks at me as if I had a demon hiding inside
But I cannot stop because they are all so funny
And my today is funny as well

I’ve decided to keep your in an urn
Close to my bed
So I could see you in my dreams
But I don’t dream
And you are dead of course

You were always the guardian of my household
You watered my dried heart
And wiped my dusty hands
Even when I was sick and couldn’t say «thank you»
You brought me a glass of red wine
Even though my lips were closed

I stand by your side
And feel your warm breath on my cheekbones
Your smile choking me, squeezing my lungs
Leaving red marks all over my ribs
It hurts even now

Although I have decided to write this poem about you
The words get stuck in my fingers
As I print them on your old computer
Wiping off your fingerprints
And leaving my own instead

When I had my first chemotherapy
I threw up on your shirt
And you threw up all my love

And tomorrow I am having my last procedure
The first and the last one with your dead corpse
On my arms
And the smell of your death in my nostrils

Inspired by Wallace Stevens’ «Thirteen Ways of Looking at a