A Cadaver In Cleavage

When I die let it be
Not with close friends
Nor with dearest family.

But let it be amongst temptresses,
Curvaceous vixens and flame breathed harlots.
A rainbow of minds, eyes, skin and locks.

To stroke, squeeze and bear the density
Of superwomen who don’t know
The meaning of hesitation, who are way past virginity.

And when I croak
Carbonise my ashes
Into pendants that plunge
Down cleavages so that I
May forever feel their heartbeats
And recall their full scale chorale
At the time my shoe knocked against the pail.

© 2012 Clinton Morgan