Dying in soft arms III[original poetry]

Here once more,

Dying in soft arms.

Drawing each breath,

Through the weight of the dark.

Knit loosely by moonlight,

A tapestry of heartbeats.

The sun mocks our union,

Our laced fingers withdraw,

As we lie still together,

In casket and cradle.

We were but a dream,

Lost softy by morning.