Grind my bones, my love,
And stir them into tea. Keep
Me close to you by inhaling that
Calcified steam
Fragrant with all that ails me;
My loss won’t mean anything when
I’m concentrated into broth, brewed,
But not diluted, like
Eau de me. Consume me
In pieces, darling. Sip my liver and gulp a lung;
If you so desire, hold my essence on your tongue.
In time you may not recollect my face, but
I hope you remember how I taste.