With every breath, I inhale death.
A whiff of the
soft velvety heavy luke-cold smell of death.
I let it roll inside my body for a while.
I exhale.
A somewhat more sizeable death,
a softer velvetier heavier whiff of breath.
It left me a little more Deathless.
(c) Korou Kh 2009
Death cycles
2009-12-11T23:12:00+05:30
Korou
poem|