What if tomorrow was your last day?
All behind you… complete.
What would you want your last memory to be?
What vision, what painting in your mind’s eye,
Would you cling to…
As if that vision defined your life.
My lover… sleeping, there.
Silent, other than the warmth of her breath.
Air, pulsing through her…
Setting a cadence, not just for her life,
But setting every day…
The foundation of mine.
Her hair, still, yet in that stillness,
Waves quelled by her own beauty.
My last vision, her… quiet, in her peace.
Framed by the stillness of her breath,
Wrapped in the glory of her sleep,
Enough for me.
© 2017 W. C. Stacia, Jr.