Poetic Asides Weekly Prompt

COMING AT AN END

The art of losing
isn't hard to master;
Nothing can ever
happen twice,
so far be it that
I should repine.

We slept and woke
entering the golden room together,
O how your fingers drowsed me!
Oh, scandal of the honey of twilights!
What a million filaments!

It was lovely then,
But it's lonely in the body;
The sheets grow
heavy as a lecher's kiss.

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
Speckled like a sky;
With the shadow of the moon
at my side, I search
for traces of wildlife
in the white snow.

One cannot
begin it too soon.