Passing

I yearn for a soft kiss
and not a cold bottle’s lips.
I have felt them touch mine
too many times before
and yet – and yet death –
not the corporal kind –
but all the others that have graced the body
before the final deed –
never seem to grow lighter
with each passing.

But still,
they make the pulling
of the final straw
looser from the hands of life.

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