The Death Of Me Poem by Windsor Guadalupe Jr

As we are impaled
To this bed,
I want you
To be the death of I.

I want the gods,
The populace,
The cicadas,
The wind,
The burly statues,
The replicas of chaos,
The trellis of the gossamer
Heavens to know

That you
Are the death
Of me.

I want your hair
To stifle me in a lock
Of sapid hiss and coil.
I want your lips,
Your teeth
To devour me
In this drama of
Predation.
I want your beautiful mind
To cage me in a delusion.
I want your hands
To tinker with my being,
My avenues and cascades.
I want your breath
To claim mine -
An exhaustive thievery.
I want your phrases
To cut through me
Like incensed trains
In a hollow subway.
I want to starve oblivion
Into one of those
Immense eyes.

I want all of you,
To be the death
Of me.