I've never held my head unto that of another's

Never felt their breath come into me and mine into them

I have never not needed words to feel anything at all

and so silence scares me

Silence is so open-ended, and leaves a mind to wander

My mind wanders often

and now, my body grows old beyond the physical sense

I feel my mind and will failing me,
and
if Death were to come to me now,

I think death would hesitate,

perhaps,
kneel down toward me and put my head unto theirs,

fill my lungs with their breath,

and hold me



and then I would likely ask them:

Will you help me to keep moving?



Death, in their silence, would
take my arm into theirs

walk me home

put me into bed

and turn out the light

and as they leave my home
I will thank death

and death will be sure to leave the door open on their way out