The smell of wax reminds me
of flowers piled up against the coffin.
Surrounded by tall white candles,
dusted with incense smoke,
spattered with blessed water,
the coffin shines in angled light.
I once used buttercream to make candles.
We let them drip on our bodies,
marking trails to secret places
with tiny buttercream rosettes.
Now you are gone and I am a loner.
I am spending more and more time in my coffin,
All the trails to secret places missed.
The incense, holy water,
light at a certain angle, the smell of wax,
remind me of the flowers piled against the coffin.
The taste of buttercream will always remind me.
It will always remind me. It will always remind me.