Ficly

Ashes To Ashes/Dust To Dust

We could rot under the stars, you know.
Ignore the wind blowing at my front door,
let the phone hanging on the wall
pick up messages on a cassette.
We don’t have to move here from our place
on the grass. We could stay here until
our bones crumble to dust
and return to the earth,
just as they were meant to.

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