When you held me in the forest we stared at the stars until our bodies were numb. If I were stronger, I could build iconoclast dreams, but when I close my eyes I see the moonlight in your own, and I know that one of us was blessed. How many statues could I ***** before I realized gold would never feel as your soft skin on mine again? Don't leave me your robes when you go, because what will happen on the day the incense fades and they will never smell of you again? Would my last breath of you be known to my memory? Sleepless nights retain you, would I be who I was when I knew you in the morning?
My love is grief in the future tense: the fear I will not live long enough to keep you living, too.