Nothing more precious than moonstone,
she'd say
Nothing more precious than moonstone.
Deep in her sleep, she'd mumble the phrase,
over and over as if in a craze
Nothing more precious...

What is moonstone to gold, I would think to myself
as her words sputtered broken but heartfelt.
...precious...

I glance at the stone, placed by her bed
kept close and safe, tucked near her head
Moonstone silvery woven like thread
blinds me cold, steals my sight, knocks me dead.

Lovely lips part
the **** is her art.
Nothing more precious...
she brushes close, her breath chokes.
I finish her phrase, dying slow
my finale breath utters in madness
...moonstone.