I could taste the loneliness on her lips,
While our tongues slipped;
Her body’s sweat her tears–warm against mine,
Soaked in sad time.
She tasted better in death than dark life,
Warmed by the knife
Of the sweet grave she’d come to call her bed
Where light and dark wed.
There I dug to find my lost love hiding;
My soul residing,
I contented myself to feel her bones,
No more my own,
And for all eternity here after,
Her skin’s laughter
Was the closest I came to finding my babe.
“Death’s living slave,”
I heard her say as my body decayed,
“I miss those days,
Soaking under the sun there in your grip,
But life comes quick,
So I chose death’s lasting days to spend
With you in content.”