After the Funerals, the Dancers Speak

You and I will soon escape from our dirt-encased homes. Bone will show through the wound from your car accident, while my lungs will still bear the marks of that fatal tumour. Free now, we will climb over the headstones, all the time sniffing the scent of donated blossoms with our sunken noses. See our half-fleshed feet stirring stones in the footpath used by mourners. Did you think death would stop us? My darling, I will take your fingerbones in mine, hold the ruins of your body close. Though damaged, we can still touch. Though dead, we can still dance.