flirting after death

you are the face I would like to see at my mother’s
funeral. head of the procession, carrying flowers. fancy
seeing you here looking good in a tux. hey, I am texting
you from the walk-in fridge at work where I am counting
all the blueberries individually. hey, I am calling from the
storeroom where I am making angels on the floor. tell me
you want me just like this, then show me the difference
between sweet talk & a lead balloon—there you go, my
dear. Sinking into you so delicately & then cutting the
strings. hope you want to nail something other than a
coffin. hope the two of us can lay to rest. either way, I
find you sexy when you say too much, sexy when you
break the peace. but if I could have that—a moment of
peace with you—then I would stop the processions,
release the dead, and allow reality to be.