Swansong Re-Sung. Poem by Alistair Plint

Temptation.

Humming breathlessly
at
your feet.
Gracefully
wrapped
in
restless dreams
of our future,
no longer.

Keeping our
candle alive
would be
stronger.
Are we
just sadist
at heart?

Chorusing
the eventless
space
we now fill.

As darkness sets,
in a blinking moment
a-flash-of-sheer-bright-light
trickling
through
the universal
meta-tags
that once
bound us.

And the purity
of a
choir voice
echoing
my last
attempted
breath

before you say

the word