I Must Die First
I must die first, my love,
by jolenish fiber
I must go before you,
and there is nothing for it.
You will say 'No I must.'
but I swear to you,
this is the way it must be.
It is possible to have life after loss,
many do it, and survive alright,
but I will not have it.
I will tell you why.
I saw things before you,
and had seen fine.
But then my eyes opened
and I saw better.
I began to search your eyes
for every answer, your mood,
your thoughts, your expressions,
ever changing, and yet ever staying
exactly the same. Safe.
I knew when you loved and hated me,
I knew when you were happy or not,
I knew everything through your eyes,
your face, your brow.
I heard fair before you,
clairity was never questioned.
But then my ears were exposed,
to something more.
Your tone tells me so much that
my ears cling to your every tone,
your volume, distinst voices in one.
Your intelligence and humor were sustenance.
Even hearing you say my name, as if it were first. Nearmost.
I recognized when you were in pain or agony
and when you were content and laugh your loud laugh.
I could feel fine and dandy,
and was under impression of normality.
But then something ruffled inside
and came out on my skin.
Your body beside, under, on top,
your hands, lips, anything, everywhere,
confirms everything that was before,
was somehow more and challenged.
You hold me suffocatingly, and I belong. Intensity.
Your touch illuminates me,
and hits me to the core,
every fingertip and confirmation, and I know it to be true.
So how is it, my love,
that it may be possible for me
to have everthing that I know,
and have known for so long,
vanish before me, and life then ask me
to function after having a wholesome life with you?
Why even attempt to live an unprosperous life
without you, when all I want
are these revalations every waking day?