It will be

and i want to tell him I love him-
before it comes for me, before it wraps me up,
and carries me off into the shadows of night:
Death will come for me.

So I draw him detailed patterns,
bake him cookies and croissants.
I fluff his pillows and clean out his fridge,
make his bed and do our dishes while he in the shower.
I suck his dick and kiss his feet
let him cum in me
because I want all of him
and would do anything to take a piece of him with me.
Because eventually death wants to carry my life away
The way the wind wants to carry away
all of the leaves.

Should his phone call go missing
the sky collapses around me
the very universe recedes.
I asked him once, if he had ever been in love.
and he said 'yes, more than once'.
And I said 'I've loved, but never really been in love'.
Because nothing had ever felt the way
my soul does, when he opens his eyes
on an early Sunday morning and says nothing
but smiles at me.

And I know in my final moments,
it will be our first kisses I will picture,
it will be the butterscotch,
the strong bay breeze.
It will be his laugh ringing through the air...
when Death comes for me,
and collects me,
like a child gathering his play-things.