Drowning in the waves of your hair
Would be a holy passing.
To flail and clutch at your neck
As breath deserts and eyes bulge
Would be a reluctant grasp at life.
Smothering in the scent of your skin,
Choking on that poisonous perfume,
Would be the sweetest doom
And the most caressing of killers.
Falling into the deep valley crested by your thighs
Would be a lovely tumble to a dark future,
Where the pearly gates or the flames of Hell
Are the freckles on your nose.
Sleeping forever by your side
Would be a peaceful slumber.
So inflict yourself upon me
Until the Reaper hugs us both.