cigarettes / orchids for a wake

, i've picked the perfect suit, matching shirt and shoes, to complement my skin, pale, pasty paper white, flowers bloom in spite, frosty winter chills, she shakes her head, lights the one last cigarette, she says, "i'm not ready yet", and so we separate, the years in to days, the days to dust, discard me down, discard me all the way down, to bury our bodies under the soil and seed, we'll not be blowing leaves, just lay me down, go to sleep, i promise you won't feel anything