yes, I have questions

I have questions to ask,

but I wonder what for...

I was wondering, if you could sit down with me

and reminisce

could you tell me,

what was it like to die?

 

what was the valentine's card for

and why did you never send it? your mother found it

in your closet, addressed and stamped,

ready to go

you never made it to the mail

you went to your pill bottle instead.

Was it because I didn't listen to you read scripture to me

at 4am,

because if so, I am sorry, and atheism is just a choice

it was never a choice I made to ridicule You,

but you are here now, and I want to know

what is it like to die?

 

I never got to thanking you for Thanksgiving dinner

it was delicious and I never liked cranberry sauce before

you made it. What was the point of that church

if all they did was tell you to stop taking your medicine

and just pray, if you knew you were sick?

Did they honestly believe

you were no ill?

And what of your prayers?

They did not go answered

because we are here

at this cafe in my dreams

and I still want to know,

what was it like when you died?

 

I thanked your mother for letting me stay at your house after the funeral

I was terribly emotional and I cried into those green sheets in the guest room

I wanted to be in your bed with you again.

I wanted to breathe your autumn hair

I wanted to see your amber eyes slowly

sinking into dreams

and our fingers entwined

with our foreheads close

and a kiss before we slept

but now that we are here,

can you tell me what it's like to die?

Because I am thinking of drawing the hand of Death near, and kissing his ring, like the Pope,

and I want to know, if I do kiss his ring, will he bring me to see you

again?