In Letum, Pulchrae (a poem by Sylvance DeFleur)

You lie at peace, your face awash with serenity.
Upon your lips there rests the ghost of a sated smile,
For in this state you know no hunger, no maladie,
No harm. You are untouched by those who would beguile:
Your skin still pale as snow blossoms, your lips as red
As the mists that embrace Mhaldor. So peaceful art thou
In rest that even as I look at you, still, dead,
I long to be as beautiful as you are now.
In nothingness you drift, uncaring, needing naught,
And in this self-sufficiency more beauty lies.
The silks caress you, unfelt on your breasts, firm, taut,
Alluring.... How I long to stroke your resting thighs....

In life, you were breath-taking, yet, truly I say
That now you've found perfection. In Letum Pulchrae.

FIN

Penned by my hand on the 21st of Chronos, in the year 370 AF.