I can't make any expressions
And I can't speak
Everything is so sweet.
Sweet lavender vanilla and French oak under
Irish forest.
My eyes have never been so brown and so clear.
I can't control them,
But I can still vaguely hear your singing ringing
About and around us.
When we both die, will the love I thought of
Be reborn and revived,
And hold a marriage between the graves,
Reusing bouquets.
It takes the human in us to die for us to feel reunited.
Me, finally in white.
You, past what you became.
But would we ever know?
Can you feel anything in the grave?
Before I die, I will take a bite out of the corner of my notebook
And when we meet, my jaw is full of what I had left to tell you,
All on scraps of paper,
Nothing in my own voice anymore.