Writing About a Painting

I have written before about writing prompts and writing inspirations from an image. I am trying the experiment on this blog today with the help of an image from Rick Mobbs, who was also the “prompter” behind this post.

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I thought you were falling in love with me, death.

Your kisses on my nape, your breath in my hair, are quivering still.

I sought the hollow of your breast, a cave of ice, where I could nestle, undisturbed, under warm quilted snow, for a slumber that knows no awakening.

I have looked to you, death, and you have looked at me for all the years that we stayed, surrounded by this blue haze, this illusion of certainty.
Swollen and sore, longing for you, my death, my body laid, warm and in wait.

It sought your touch.

But my body was never on your mind, and it stayed, steady, breathing, white, like a song frozen on your lips.
You looked at me and I looked to you, laden with the weight of a gaze held too long.

You were once so near, I could have reached out and touched your skin, tender and shriveled as an autumn leaf.

I waited, looking over my shoulder, waiting for you to come nearer, but softly, death, you left, just as you had come, crept out of my veins in stealth.
I am tired, death,waiting, and still awake.

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