Breath

This I know,
this I dread,
But this I'll know,
when I'm dead,
and gone away,
buried deep,
beyond return,
your ashen heap.

I had you once,
once more than this,
you recall,
a subtle kiss an embrace
of black, the warmth,
of skin.
The guards they couldn't keep you in.
Monday, February 15, 2010
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