I Always Imagined I'd Be Buried

I always imagined I'd be buried...
With the many admonitions of said priest and his many hallowed requests to protect something which is no longer theirs.. I always wondered why.. Never understood and probably never will.
Last night while I lay with my eyes toward the ceiling as many sleepless nights that have passed, I recalled that feeling when remembering our journey into immortal nothingness that encompassed all that was chaos and the ever so contradictory peace that followed. I found myself remembering the feel of velvet linings of that dark wood which promised such sheltered sleep filled eternities together.
I have not forgotten it seems. Closing my eyes and picturing the candle lit chamber, I can almost smell the scents of gardenias and roses outside of my imaginary window. Heavy heat from the flames thicken the air falling silent on our sweat covered skin, I felt that sharp rapture again in the curve of my neck, on the bend of my wrist and again, on the soft silkiness of my thighs. Deep and red, spilling over into a dream of being buried together against the soft satin underpinnings of my conodrum I remember the soft feel of the shiny fabric against the cool hardness of jagged stone...
Opening my eyes to the sounds of mechanical mechanisms still so alien to my senses along with the eye prodding glow of iridescent light... I remember... I always imagined I'd be buried.
I roll over in a fetal position and wonder how it has come to me to be so lost and so unseen when I remember being so alive with you.