TWO

Dismiss me
And I would faithfully be alone;
I would miss me more than you.
All the milling hours
That we would never spend together
Would entomb an instance,
And in some distant future an eminent archaeologist
Would come across a frozen space
With words like “Here lies…”
Chipped under, and me inside
Still new;
Smooth of face and grandly thatched,
Trapped by a rash of youthfulness,
Mouthing miss you.
Don’t leave me ever;
Not for me, but for you,
Because you wish to stay,
Because you do not want to see me encased
In such cold raised in your name,
And in doing so spirit stripped
And mingled with myth;
Do not miss me.