I always wear black
  when I walk around,
           wanting to be ready?

For death when it slyly
    collects me footsteps,
          taking my last horizontally.

Needing to be prepared for that
         moment, when I fall,
I want to look good on my deathbed.

If death wants me to pass,
        it'll be dressed in what I'm
             slumbering beneath the dirt in.

The bloom of beauty
and the sweetness of a kiss.

Dreams that glide
ebb and flow with the tide.

Slumbering clouds
the glimmer of a dawning sky.