Death in footwell

I feel like I met you at your funeral
I brought the flowers not knowing your favourite
Your glass coffin cold and sutural
Your body bare with thin rasps savoring it

All the vacant seats are drenched leaving the last one
I read the eulogy to the mortician
He clapped- sharp, loud and long
I sat cross legged just to prolong
The time by which you will be forgotten
In the moss covered epitaph blue and sodden

I feel like I met you at your funeral
I loved you through a whole moment of sudoral
If I could love you through the white noise
I would worship your gifted poise
And memorise your ruinated mess
All of you, all of you, nothing less