May (One of Twelve) or My Love

I am ecstatic
and rarely think of death
the way I used to
We spoke in passing
of the way you thought
you would walk into the woods
and I would make a bed
in my downstairs bathroom
either way, careful to make sure
no one would be bothered
by the mess our bodies would create

I am only bringing this up
to remind you, me,
and anyone that is listening
dying is a part of the dialogue
that being alive speaks
If you want to marry me,
I vow to you
I will go out of my way
to stay alive longer than you
I am ecstatic knowing
you're not going anywhere soon

I am ecstatic
falling asleep next to you
Your body is warm
and particular and honest
You should know
that I cry more than you do
Every time you leave
or have to work later than me
Every time I move something
in our room or rearrange anything
It is just me missing you

My Love, I believe there is a space
where two people can live
without recognizing creation or destruction
can be thoughtful and reckless
think as one but be two
where perspective is often wrong
and admits so gracefully
A place where doubt cannot exist
and reassurance holds company
with the saints and everyday kindness
like an epitaph written by the deceased