The Death Bed

It's a curious thing- a memory foam bed.
Will it still remember me when I am dead?
Will my shape haunt this mattress-
the arch of my back become the curve
that you caress when you miss me most?
Will my ghost tangle itself in bed sheets,
and instead of roaming restlessly,
remember only where it sleeps,
And if you weep, would it feel the tears?
Would it recall the years we spent here?
If I could, I'd offer you my feather pillow,
And wrap you up in blankets
if you promised not to cry
as you remember how we shared our nights:
Turning off the lights and kissing our days away.
If bodily I cannot stay,
Then let me rest in our duvet,
And pray for you to feel me there,
or smell my perfume in the air,
Though I were gone, I'd still be near
and fondly should recall this bed
bought the day before we wed
Where you lay me, and our heads now lie-
if I should lay me down to die.