Goodnight

Whatever you do,
do not stroke my hair
lean near my ear
and whisper your affection for me
while I lay dying;
do not wait until I am gone
to acknowledge I was here.

Do not hug my corpse
like you never want me to go
or kiss me
as if your very kisses
might wake me to life again ...

don't do it later, don't do it then,
do it now --

again and again.
Then, when we are gone we have no regrets:

Passion was ours!
That eternal fire of myth,
we were there, dancing, weren't we, love?

Yes.  No love went to waste.
There is nothing that remains that might sour.

No tears -- not for me!

I was much too blessed,
much too free, much to loved
that my life should inspire pity,
where ever you surmise I am.

If you cry it is not for my loss of life
but for your own loss of love.

Cry far away from my grave,
someplace quiet.

I would like to take a walk, anyway,
transform into a breeze or some meaningful light --
an apparition if your sanity can bare it --
and see you see me

maybe then you will know,
for eternity I have and always will kiss you goodnight.