Icy to the touch,
This heart that never beats.
Blood flows through these veins
No more,
And no more breaths you take.
I trace the contours of your body;
Slowly, softly,
My fingertips brushing gently
The hard, smooth planes
As if of a sculpture.
Hands moving upwards,
Fingers at your throat -
Brush over the pulse,
The pulse that is no longer there.
My fingers at your face,
Exploring your marble features
With a trembling touch.
Lips, hard as granite,
Your breath upon my hand.
I raise my gaze at last
To meet your questioning eyes.
One glance is all it takes...
And I am lost to you.
