Death of the Inanimate

Death of the InanimateYour lips are the wet of my blood. Without them I bleed dustYour voice, the rhythm of my heart. Without it my ventricles lay in silenceYour touch, the nerves of my fingertips. Without it I cannot feelYour embrace, the light at my center. Without it I see only blacknessCome back to me soon and breathe life into this corpse for without youthere is nothing