When visiting my grave, dance on it so I can feel the vibrations from your feet waking me, so your energy knits my bones together. I want you to make salsa shapes with your hips: eights and eights and eights of eternity. I want you to water my black roses with Cava, and recite the poems I wrote in life so I can speak again through your lips. I want you to bring candles to be my eyes in the darkness. Strum your guitar so it sounds like my heart is still beating. Paint your face a skull so I’ll recognise you when you join me. I like that you leave me food, thank you, but you don’t know how wonderful it is not to cook or clean or eat or shit ever again. Abuela was asking for you, she was knocking ‘hello’ on my coffin. Oh and before you go, I miss the flutter of your lips on my cheek, please graffiti my headstone with a butterfly swarm of your lipstick kisses.