These Little Deaths

Living in the death of who I've become
are your eyes; so black night is blind.
Burning coals, magma of darkness!

I am a fiery abyss, flaming into nothing
except the fires of your lips, phoenix of my heart.
Your ashes are golden, the eternal youth of love.

They coat the sky, creating constellations
for the weary to gaze upon in awe.
You are my star, my moon, night of me.

I breathe in evening, every pore embraced.
You're the air I exhale, the shadows around me.
You impale me with reason that rhyme cannot find.

I die a thousand and four times with every kiss,
every caress and climax. Blissfully I fall.
Yes, I love to die these little deaths, man of ash and shadow.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Passion can drive us into little deaths and out of them a phoenix...if we are lucky.