The sum of my own tears
has come to this, laying
prostrate over your casket,
the things pool up in the
satiny lace, having come
to your funeral to make
peace with the death of you;
the life I still live, though—
At no age could our
relationship codify relation.
Discrepencies, all, and,
like gravity holding the
distant planets in...what?,
still. Your parents are
crying. My parents are no
longer married, one died.
