The last time I felt the touch of your frail fingers
Was the dawn of your dynasty.
Doubts, questions, confessions.
"No,
you, my love,
do not have to say anything."
"I was able to love you more,"
You say,
And that was enough.

Do not wake the lady from her sleep,
I say.

Shall your lips tremble again,
Mine will quiver a million times more.
Shall your eyelids flicker open,
Mine will forget to blink.
Let the riverbank gather.
Let the moss amass.
Let the trees collect frost.
Let the snow glaze past.
And let their leaves starve and die.



This moment of stillness,
Where I carry emptiness,
Shall never be forgotten.
The weight of my lover’s last breath upon my shoulders,
This is where your dynasty begins.