Your body, in my arms,
nestles to mine:
groin to groin, legs entwined
your brow by my lips,
your breast pressed to my chest.
Swept away by sleep,
attentions you lavished on me
drift into dreams.
Waking, I contemplate
(ashes to ashes
dust to dust)
the conditional continuing
of our mingling breath.
Only this I ask of Death:
that when he finds us,
he find us like this,
to wrench us together
apart from here.
I wonder
(ashes to ashes
dust to dust)
if lovers endure beyond death,
if the dead dream indeed.
In a hope,
as tender as scents of spring,
yet sure as winter-seeds
that dream of Easter eruptions,
I continue to hold you.
March 3, 1990