warm, smooth hands
cold, lacy skin
dare my heart to dance
but Do Not Resuscitate
withering was the words we weeped
dark, tranquil evening
against a slowly drying leaf.
Do Not Resuscitate.
he, slyly smiling
softly spoken, steep and stumbled
over his very last words
please Do Not Resuscitate
for when I hear a siren
it will lushly seduce me into the water
gulping away at my lungs
loving me
hydrologically
until you are you,
and I am no longer me,
heads, within their basins
shushing sounds of shallow breaths
hiding me
emotionally
for i would be
not body
just wires and screens
Automatic,
Autopilot,
Do Not Resuscitate me.
-vivi
