There we lay
in our oak caskets;
wax covered mason jars
litter the floor.
Ocean's breeze
plasters our hair to
our foreheads.
Your glasses
glisten.
Darling, I could have
sworn, in that
last moment, you
smiled.
The flames leap
and lick at our
numb toes.
It was my fault,
don't fret.
I let the tent
touch the flame.
I don't regret it.
There we lay,
in our oak caskets
on the roof,
a musical saw in
my arms,
a cello
in yours.
I can still hear
those last,
chilling notes
as we let out
one breath,
not caring that
they'd be our last.
Darling, I could have
sworn, in that
last moment,
you smiled.
"Je t'embrasse jusqu'à la fin"
you breathed
and your eyes
closed.
"Je t'aime..."
I whispered
and we both
slid off
the roof
and into the
cold, black
sea.
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