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The Little Death*

A moment like a breath cut short
By a late summer evening
The angels left before
And their faces stained with white
I think that it is too late
To tell you that it hurts
My dying heart
And my memories stained with white
 
If you can lose me, know that I will be yours
And in the crook of his arms, death will cradle us
Because if you can lose me,
it is only to remain yours
And in the crook of his arms, death will cradle us
 
The rain runs down my temples
The lightening sings your descent
Huddled against my life
Your laugh sounds out and then dies away
I think that it is too late
To tell you that it hurts
My heart isn't as it was before
As it falls asleep so gently
 
Originaltext

La petite mort

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