You fell in a flurry of poppy red
vestments on your way to buy
some eggs & sugar.
They decided on a glass case
for burial, complete with the
finest ring to remember,
even in death, that you are
the spouse of God.
There is a quiet crumbling
beneath the wax face
covering your own,
a falling away of cheeks,
lips that curl back into
your mouth, and those teeth
that remain, vibrating
with their own quiet song.
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