There is not room for Death
Nor atom that his might could render void
Since thou are Being and Breath
And what thou are may never be destroyed.
– Emily Brontë

When we are wrapped so tightly
in this bed, so cocooned that
the sun cannot touch us,
no draught can slip between us,
there is not room for Death.

Reality cannot touch us,
an imperturbable barrier surrounding
our smug bubble, our wall against the world.
Something beyond shatter proof,
there is no fault line in what we’ve built
nor atom that his might could render void.

You are something beyond
the borders of imagination –
a fantasy unfathomable and profound,
that should make you invulnerable
but mortality awaits and provokes
since thou are Being and Breath.

Whatever our souls are made of,
they must be impervious within
our fleshy casings and mushy innards.
Something like diamonds or spider silk.
In this room, I weave your skin into it,
fingers knitting as you sleep
until you are remade by love
and what thou are may never be destroyed.

Bio: Kirsty Niven lives in Dundee, Scotland. Her writing has been published in several anthologies, journals and magazines including From the Ashes, Love Notes You’ll Never Read and Sylvia Magazine.