She was where the moon chose to shine. It lit her path, her gothic face; it lit her, she was mine.
Mine by her confession, profession, intention to be my other:half, completion, perfection, selection: sweet shelter and my cover.
She ran her hands along my head and felt my soft hair, imagining me dead. She’d cry when she had thoughts like these. I’d ask her why, she’d beg, “Don’t leave.”. And such a comfort that did seem. This angel crying over me? This angel offering such true peace? And to think for once I’d chance to leave? I loved the way she molded so against my chest in these times of woe. With a kiss and honest lips I made the promise of eternal faithfulness. To never fall to wound nor frailty, to shrug off age and senility. To always have her as one with me I’d give up death for eternity. Eternity with her hand so small upon my head, my hair so soft. Me leave? Never even in a thought. Her arms created the heaven I’d sought.
We ached each moment which we shared for skin could not complete our dare. To so completely be the other, be as one flesh, single lover. What we’d formed was something new, at least to this world. Something true. She said, “Love, I’d rather die with you than have you gone and live life through.”. I wrapped her up as tight as I could and replied, “Dear Dearest, I’m yours for good.”.
“Good”, a word which stings me now. How could I speak of such, tell me how? Was it “good” we came to find such a bond when life has its means to see it gone? As a thief, like some prophet said He’d come, Death came for my Angel while I slumbered. Uneasy I awoke, unusually before dawn and could not awake the one my head had slumbered on. I tried kisses and whispers, then screams and vile tears. I tried protesting what we’d lost of our coming years. I tried in vain to awake the sweet one who had been seemingly slain by a world with such scorn for our joy it brought pain. When she did not arise I had no thought to disguise the red rivers of blood which replaced tears in my eyes. For the rest of the day bloody tears stained my face and I laid by her body until the day ran away.
Were those my hands which dug such a deep, empty grave? Was it truly my love who I then had to place into a hole where she was then meant to stay? Was that truly the sun rising on a new day?
My vision is poor for these scabs from the crying. I pick and they bleed and I don’t think they’re drying. I sweat with distress and the pearls of sweat glisten. The skin they touch burns with the half of me missing. There is no recourse and there is no remission from the malady struck which can have no revision. My Angel is taken and I was not spared. My life now forsaken to the arms of despair. I think of dead heaven and my other half there. To leave her so empty does not seem as fair. In this blank world around me: no one strokes my hair. Do I live here without her? Was it by mercy I was spared?
I was spared no single thing. I was poisoned by the taking. I loved with truth, there’s no mistaking my honest vows. My love is waiting. Veins are made for slitting, breaking. Life is made to find a true thing. Raise my scabbed eyes up above. Open your arms, I come my love.