Kissing you like its our very first kiss, every time.
It would be exquisite to die in front of you, I thought. Not that I want to die, exactly. It’s just that, when I go, it would be sharper and sweeter to do it in front of you. You could be a sort of cheerleader for my demise, easing me into non-existence, distracting me with your beauty while I slip into the abyss. My fingers, twisting in your hair, might tether me to the earth for a few moments more. The very sight of you would make me loathe to go, my heart would beat wildly and stubbornly in my fading flesh. My very last thought would be, “How lovely! How beautiful.”
But I am death and you cannot kiss death without me kissing you back. For I am a passionate kisser.