He sat rigid and cold
in the glossy black stool
in the parlour of a
flowery-smelling
funeral home.
His best friend
sat gaurdingly next to him.
Protecting him from any further
temptations to join his love.
He had jumped up,
part-way through the ceremony,
and had attempted to remove
his other half from the coffin,
in effect causing everyone to
break-down and wail.
Once being drug off the coffin,
his spirit finally broken,
he looked up at me,
just for a second.
I will never forget that face.
That's the face you make
when you really lose something.
- Antony
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