The explicit song of the dead rang morosely through my ears.
The penultimate, the peak,
As far as I could reach,
Before falling.

The circadian rhythm of things,
The fatty, corpulent love,
Everyday,
In and out, never quite enough.
And here I was thinking of it
As I was falling.


Sweetly, sweetly,
Death would you be gentle?
Disquietude of thinking
Of the dulcet things he'd said,
Promise me you'll comfort me,
Once I am through falling.

Obdurate and unkind to all others but you.
When we came face to face,
I wondered what you'd do,
Once I was through falling.

And then we met, the decadence,
Of the mellifluous sound,
Of the end,
Of my weighty form,
As it hit the ground