Death's Lips

I feel-no, felt-no shame
while dying.
The world stripped me of body, unceremoniously,
layer by layer, outside in,
while I lifted my tired, darkened eyes
to the beautiful azure of the pressing sky.
Alone, all alone,
I submissively close my eyes,
and quietly slumber
as Death gently wraps his pale, cool hands,
around my being, and holds me to his chest,
whispering a bittersweet lullaby's words of blanched silence.
I hear tormented souls moaning from within his bottomless stomach,
and I recoil in my sleep.
Sensing my uncertainty,
he lifts me to his lips,
and my being glows in alarm
as the soft mouth kisses me away,
and I expand.
My eyes open to gold,
and I behold him in his beauty.
Oh, Oblivion,
Oh, moaning souls within,
quiet yourselves, I beseech you,
so that I may humble myself to his glory,
and appreciate his peals of golden laughter
as we behold each other, wrapped in love's transparent swaths of dew.
In full realization of our other-worldliness,
we give rings of metal to the world's lives.
We are so alive.

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