When they strap the white rags of wrinkly age upon my waist
And lay me in my place
I hope your memory won’t rush back to me
In a fever dream
Will a lover be by my bedside, clinging to the last steps together ‘till we cross over?
Or will I be in stranded in my cell of four eyeless panels,
trapped with only my fleeting thoughts and bitter ramblings of you?
Will I curse your name till the breath parts from my chest
And I choke on the bitter taste of my tongue
As it cries of what I’ve been dreaming of
And how it swept my earthly time beneath the cosmic carpet with lies?
Only time will tell.