When I leave, remember me not
with sullen memories,
and melancholic poetries.
But by times,
when laughter was at its highest
and youth at its fondest.

Gather not florals of grief wrapped in
a bouquet,
rather,
garlands of white, and blooms
fullest during midday.

Decorate me not
of traditional white clothing.
But of colourful textiles
and gay painting,
embellishments
of opulent evenings,
and hung-over mornings.

Sing not songs of sorrows,
Sings songs that tell of a better
tomorrow.
Time may seem cold,
a couple or so days,
remember in time
we’ll each have to go our merry ways.

Part with me not
with a kiss and good-by,
rather with farewell,
we shall meet another time.

Engrave not:
Born and Perished,
in this or so day…
Rather, lived and loved,
life in his own way,

I ask thee not to erect me a memory,
rather, erect me – in memory.

And remember, remember:
Memento mori, Memento Vivere.

Touch me.
Burn me,
consume my remains,
Let us become one
me and you.

Let’s burn in flames.

Lap me up –
from finger

to toe,

(gently)

my neck
to my chin –
they are yours too.
Further down,
…
..
.
Further.
Deeper.
To every valley,
nook,
crevices…

down there too.

We are in communion,
holy.
Your body,
and mine too.
Communion.
Impassioned.
Impassioned
Communion.

Hold my hands, like that old song of that band we like. Smile, smile, and together, let’s call on to memories of many moons passed, the places we went on and lives that passed by. People, friends, and lovers - the dear men with whom we shared our lives with, like the ebbing waves on shorelines, now passed. Those whom we shared countless a childhood faith, planning the architecture of our lives. Those whom we laughed, played, and spent exuberant nights with, laughing, singing, passing the time as time slowly passes us by. Remember, remember their names, as if etched on the ageless rocks we sat and watched the world change; together with sentient trees and peerless stars. Was it marble or basalt?

Hold my hand, like that old song of the band we like. And smile, smile as we recall the young busride and seats 24 and 25. It was 1978 and the new dawn had just started. With nothing but a small pack of clothes, barely substantial small bills, and a pocketful of hope, we embarked on to unfamiliar rubble. In that small house by the street I can no longer remember, we built our new shared separate life. So blissfully. Remember, remember, you carried bricks by morning and my burdens by night. I am thankful for those times. The storms we withstood, and gay days we danced on. They were pillars that which but fortified: memories, in the years that came and went. Was it really ‘78? If not, when?

Hold my hands like that old song of that band we love. And smile, smile. For now you, alongside the places we went, and the lives that passed - people, friends, lovers, have finally reunite. The blueprint of our lives now built, the ageless rocks pulverised, and the sentient trees and peerless stars now out of sight. It was basalt we sat on, and that small house by the street I can no longer recall is now a small convenience store. Go now and travel on to newer, unfamiliar lands. I shall carry in with no small packs, and soiled bills, but a pocketful of memories.

with the chiming bells, I shall remember, remember. The first time were there, happy together. And carry on, carry on in the many moons that are to pass. And prepare for the next journey we’ll go on thereafter.

Hold my hands like that old song of that band we used to love. I shall but smile, smile; e’en cold and response never.