Death

 Sleep is the dragon I chase. Like a junkie after a fix who will never get enough to satisfy. Death is the flavor in my mouth when I dream. Leaves dangled clinging softly to ridiculous hope before being gently tugged free from the brittle grey fingers of an elderly mother and falling, in what must be the most beautiful of all possible deaths. Sleep is as death to the heart of a fearful child. Dreams are the last hope, in the last moment of the life of a dying mystic. A one minute night terror is a near eternity in hell. How can he face death with happy thoughts? The answer to this is the key which opens the gates of heaven. We have love but don’t know what it is, we have lips and guess why we should use them to kiss, we have life or does life have us either way to have experienced whatever this is, has been an honor, I am glad to have known you, I’m glad to have kissed you and to have made love to you or to have wanted to. I miss you now, even though you are still here. I do this because when I die I will not be able to mourn the death of us.