That No One Walks...

we sleep in the place between chapters,
where even silence waits, as if in awe.
my body tingles, be it flesh or spirit,
i am not ready for the grave!

tis the knee of the lover,
the breath of god on my neck!
the candle burns down, and bows...
even the clock trembles with the smallest breeze,

and the pillow weeps perhaps knowing.
i am not the man i thought i knew,
but the fingers tracing the nipple...
when death tastes like passion spilled...