We tear ourselves apart.
Cover me with kisses,
and what is art is art.
Speech flies at us, misses.

There are many deaths to die.
We take each one so slowly.
Moonlight brings us to lie.
Nothing can be more holy.

Fragments. Shards. Dreams
scattered about like clothing.
What we wear to meet seems
torn through, ragged, frothing.

There is no oblivion here.
There is only shaken
wanting. Lurking near
death is cold and taken.

You glow softly in the night.
Around us is only darkness.
The windows are open. Light
caresses with its starkness.

Hands hold us tightly. Words
wrap around us, and whether
if it is us speaking, or birds,
we nail ourselves together.

We die again and again,
each small death a shiver
and a groaning. No pain
is better than this river

that always flows,
and here I am clearer;
what my body knows
is that you are nearer

than ever before. We join in this
unending hymn of praise. Breaking
each wall brick by brick is
the red process of our taking

vows. We have come so, so close.
Cover me with kisses. I love you.
We are now with such as those
who died before and live above you.



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