Eulogy

did i never tell you?

I write eulogies not love songs,

I write poetry only about the things I mourn:

About your death and my evolving, my words

Pallbearers, this stanza your coffin.  A six-sided

Wouldn't block chock-full of permutations of my lexicon

Punctuated by raffia paper and polaroids of places

your ghost now haunts. Costume jewellery, cards,

Loose stickers and poorly scrawled hearts,

Laid on your bosom, under your pale chin

Without sentiment or regret, reduced to

Objects I wouldn’t want my hands on

again. A last look at your emotionless

face, just like how you entered and

left, the lid closes, reducing you

To ember and ash.