Bury me 
in the stuffing of the false leather where it first surprised us both crossing my lips
baptize me in your name. 

Bury me 
in the pockets of your father’s leather jacket in which he buried your mother and for that 
he was on my side. 

Bury me
in the borders of your favorite photograph the man behind the newspaper the one that made 
you cry to be him for me and for yourself. 

Bury me 
beneath the floor boards of that house where you sank into me and the cushions 
like you came from us and for us.

Bury me
in the liquor bottle you bought on tuesday invading your blood stream to feel what it is 
to be drunk inside you.

Bury me 
behind your teeth and under your tongue where I came to understand 
the difference between young and new.

Bury me.