When I Died
When I died, I felt your lips close to mine.
Sweet death, your faint nocturne of musk refined
a serpent song of sleep, of trust, of peace,
a bartering of this life for blessed release.
You breathed me in, and with that breath preserved
what little of my fragile world deserved
eternal life. Embalmed in the amber
of your heart, a precious spark, an ember
flaring bright as my own life in me ebbed.
Until all that was left was in your blood:
my joys, my sorrows, the vagaries
of my dreams, now coursed through your arteries.
Then at last, I felt your lips close to mine,
twilight's pome, oblivion's kiss. And I died.