He made sure

to breathe me in,

"One last time."

     he said.

                                    And there is beauty

                                    in unfinished endings.

    “Can I call you,

        my lion?”

he jeered more for a smile,

   than a question.

                                     And there is happiness

                                     for tormented cynics.

He laced our fingers,

as though a corset.

   ”Does this have

        to end?”

                                      And there is romance

                                      in short stories.