twilight deepens between us,
rushing forward: the bed, the heap of clothes,
the living corpses on the edge of the moment.
you reach down once and instantly,
this mortal singularity waits, suspended.

and for an hour or so,
we cheat death with human longing.
we enchant ourselves out of death;
we enchant death out of ourselves. 

eyes closed in the height of darkness, 
limbs trembling with unspeakable sadness,
death always returns. 

as bodies, we have found nothing.