"Breathe me in," she said.
"Breathe me in
almost carelessly,
also trustingly."
I waited for 
a flicker of her eyelids
and began to inhale.
Particles of her
broke off
and drifted through
my expectant nostrils
down to my lungs
filtering into my bloodstream
until pieces of her
soared through me.
She became part of me this way
ever-present in
my heart and mind
and I felt lost
within myself,
and so tried
to cough her out.
"Wait," she said.
"While I decompose,
wait."
But I was looking for signs
to point me in the right direction
through a maze of veins
with foreign blood cells
pressing me to
a nervous panic;
her words flowed through me
before I could absorb them.
"This is me," she said.
"I'm pulsing in you,
can you feel it?"
"Sometimes I feel you
so much
it's unbearable," I said.
I meant to say more,
a reassurance that
I didn't always mind the pain
but her last molecule
wove through my
nervous system and escaped
in a shuddering gasp.