I am bones wrapped beneath
your Christmas tree.
I am fog you breathed
on your way to welcome me.

I lay beneath your marching band,
to flatten upon each strike of the drum;
Like the gavel of a Judge
sentencing my heart to love.

I see you naked in silhouettes—
against doll house wallpaper;
Red on gold & lovely curves;
Embroidery kisses head to toe.

You soiled my boyhood, though,
licking Lincoln stamps I laid mint
in my collection;
Stealing my buffalo nickels
to buy weak coffee from 7/11.

Still, I want to be one of the few—
to witness your naked truth;
To fall asleep beside you,
dotting fingers down vertebrate,
like a child at a strangers piano.

I want you to whisper my eulogy,
to any who are left;
Their arm hairs stand at attention—
like lead soldiers without lament.

I practiced my perfect signature
on this brown paper envelope.
I am ready for the postage,
to be handled, to be accepted.
But I am not willing to be opened
until you tend to my silver tinsel.

written on 11/24/2009 by: Matt Kane