LA PETITE MORT

(sonnet)    
   
To die that I might come alive in you,    
In you that I might know true hearts’ desire.    
To know the straining grip of hearts’ renew    
In coming to that place all hearts aspire.    
   
For heads are places filled with wasted wants,    
And mouths may taste of love but nothing more.    
That hands, if marks are found, are simple taunts,    
It's deep within where hearts’ true loves implore.    
   
Though rush engage, I won’t be rushing on,    
For time well spent in you, I’ll savor all,    
And spend my love in you like coming dawn,    
That day break over us, covering all.    
   
That I may come with you and little die,    
That little death, for you, may come as I.