You brushed the hair away from my eyes and kissed me on the forehead. I took you gently by the hips and slipped with you underwater. This time, you did not struggle. You remembered for the briefest moment, with the cool pressure of darkness on your eyes, that secret language of ghosts, but there was no need to speak, you are mine, because you knew as I grasped the cuff of your sleeves and tugged on your bottom lip that it was truth. Your last breath escaped your mouth in small, almost incandescent bubbles that rose to the surface and the light never to be seen again, and we were sinking, sinking, sinking to the place where balance and light no longer mattered.
At one point you almost drowned, but we reached the other side: the place where breath is no longer needed. I whispered, “Open your eyes,” and you saw the world I’d hidden from you for so long, my world of dust and crystal motes, submerged castles, foreign teeth and foreign skin, those antistars dancing in our hair. I lay you down in dark matter and sucked your heart through your mouth. Afterwards we danced through the structures formed of bones and spirit, my hand in yours, your arm about my waist.
You danced so sweetly, darling, in the way that you never wrote your poetry.
(via forestmilk)
