Will my death be the colour of coffee?
I look into my coffee and wonder;
how many more years I have to gaze
at my nostrils and the edge of my face,
framed by a few barley-coloured hairs,
dribbling into my reflection.
Will my Death be the colour of coffee?
A rich dark black,
almost satin like,
but not quite-
Dark and still
like a universe without stars.
As though something bigger than us
had picked them out like candy
and eaten them like mints.
I don't want to live in a star-less,
I need the solar system to surround me-
in all her jewels and velvets.
When I was a child and I was afraid,
I used to gather my teddies around me.
What if I have a Nightmare?
And jolt awake,
peering into the thick Dark.
I will be alone.
My planets will not be there to comfort me-
has gone cold.