It Hangs

Senses fade
into the white of the softness,
or the softness of the white.
Forgotten which.

Frozen thumbs drag circles
across blue lips.
Unseeing.
Unknowing.
Unwanting.

Sometimes,
just sometimes,
breath drags itself across your teeth.
It tastes like death, and it hangs....

You hung like a star from the Christmas tree,
dwindling out into the nothing.
Senses fade
and I forget your lips.