And since a double night is consuming your brow,
Since Heaven against your years has set ageless flow,
Foams of desires floating above our blood like dews,
Our bodies shall mimic the recumbent statues
And our slumbers their proper pose.
A still more profound death inhabits our kisses.
Death is an end, indeed, whereas kisses are snares.
No herald ever mourned swords broken to pieces.
Dido to Aeneas in vain calls and sheds tears
Over ships the wind ravishes.
The scent that graves exhale floats about your bed.
Candles clothe it in sighs, cloud it in gleaming lights.
Mourning is hiding in the serge
And sheets that sweat bathes and bites
Make of this cenotaph a bed where our love dies.
Michel Galiana
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-seemingly-dead-girl/
