When I die, I want your hands on my eyes,

for when I am forced to exit this life and it’s temporary bliss, 

I want my last sight to be of the creases and folds in your palms which have

so many a time been pressed against mine.

I want you to feel my eyelashes kiss your fingers so that

the wetness of my tears let you know when I finally have to go.

When I die, I want your hands, the hands that have already lead me toward

countless new beginnings in my life, to ease me toward my impending end.

I want to fall asleep with the shade that your hands would provide because

it would make my eternal night seem less intimidating

since, when I am finally gone, I can imagine that the darkness engulfing the

world around me is coming from you, so that you never really leave.

So please, my love, look at me one last time, register me now as I register you, and place

your aged palms over my eyes because I find that would be the most beautiful

way to go.