The death rattle is the last
Decision we ever make.
It is the long pause at the door
Before stepping through
To the other side of who we are
As we stand still, and who we will be
After the knob twists us, and the door makes the sound of decision.
There is no going back.
On the counter, lilies as white and fragile as life are splayed open like a woman’s thighs arched upward into her lover.
The body is dying the entirety of our lives while the soul reaches higher and harder for ecstasy.
Faith is the space between you and the thing you cannot see, the space between hips arching into darkness and a warm hand.
I once had a lover who healed me as he passed his hands over me without touching me. When he came to my throat he told me to trust him. I breathed deep and something unseen moved me.
God’s hand is at my throat.
Jessamayann 