Your lungs strain, old,
Torn, a rush of air
Pushing from your chest,
And all you remember is

A troubled flow of blood to
Your head and a quavering breath,
Shaken and hollow and your
Eyelids weigh with all the

Gravity of the world,
Pulling you closer to her,
Bright light,
A lingering touch of her fingers

Against yours, the brush of
Her hair that reeks of decay,
But smells so nostalgically satisfying
In itself.

For love, don't ever leave me alone
In this world unlit by a moon,
I'll follow you close behind.