Knowing you are the last face
I will see with these eyes.
Knowing how the sunlight
will color your skin
one last time.
It is no light
at the end of a tunnel,
but all around me
a fingerprint of shade and shadow.
Every smell and taste has meaning
for you and for me
because it is a last taste,
a last smell in the presence of us.
There are no winds of the future
to worry about—only
the solidity of now.
I can count the remaining breaths
that smell of your hair,
but I don’t want to.
I want to feel my complete,
fleshy existence as the texture
of your voice washes over me.
I am a still, small stone
in an ordinary stream
warmed by the sunlight of you
until the rising tide overwhelms me.
– Ceridwen
