You will only die once.
So, you might as well really feel it.

My greatest fear was of falling,
not heights.
Fall from grace, fall in love,
the fall and its seasonal memories
of tragedy that coalesced into
gusts of sticky pollen
that scratched my face.

Oh what a graceful death then,
plummeting like a lead arrow,
hair feathered, arms spread.

The violence of the rush
cauterized my zygomatic wounds
and blew the dust of my crushed bones away.