Writing death

Often in the morning as I slowly wake I contemplate I meditate on death.  How, I wonder, do you write this effectively?  I was suicidal once but now I am in my 60s death will come soon enough without my urging it on.  I can relax and wait the coming of my final lover. Imagining death, however, is like watching a good movie or listening to great music without being in the movie or making the music yourself. So I lay here this morning writing a little story of death and death came to life in two ways: one in this blog post and the second in this poem.

Cold beauty

In my mouth tantalizing hard cold steel

I hold you there with trembling eager hands

Not daring to pull your delicious curving trigger

But longing for that tender release 

I run my tongue along and taste the closeness and bitter tang

That I hold so dear in my hands