I hope one day,

when our flesh becomes maggot food

and the beetles and worms make homes 

        in the cracked ivory of our ribs,

        my hand is still intertwined with yours.

                               I hope our legs are tangled,

        my hand on your mandible, 

my skull buried into the cavity of your chest bone.

         I hope the daisies we push up are fragrant

                     ...