He/Him PO '25
Prelude to Death
Drunk with melancholy
and the smoke of oblivion,
I sit against the bed
to watch your face emerge in the mirror
sick of you.
I rise and tread amid sweet lilacs through the shades of dawn
Towards the cypress trees around these pebble paths
And from their shaking leaves my lungs pretend to extract
The thousand dreams the morning sun has vaporized.