Dying.

My pieces weave delicate patterns
Encompassing moments that brought them.
Splintering my own fingers.
Dying.

Every last note
a minimal composition
accented to a heartbeat
and playing along.
A peaceful penetration.
But dying.

Every breath drawn
Every breath released
Every breath that rises above,
twisting innumerable smoke streams.
Evaporating ecstasy.
That move you farther away from me.

Dying.
Under leather skin
from the whispers, gasps,
a smile.

And seeing the length of the skies
against the shortest moment of our lives
and living again, just one more time.
And then now,
Dying.