It's Still Life

II.
The Perils of Christmas Cards

I won’t be dying today after all.
I mean who dies from the edge
of a creased paper, eh? Well, me.
For a few diminishing heartbeats,
when my tongue wouldn’t stop
bleeding, and my lips dripped
deep sunset red, and I dared

my husband to ‘give us a kiss,’
as if blood’s thicker than affection,
and then I started thinking of all
those things I’d leave undone
(Booker Prizes, a Nobel or two,
and that Costa Coffee Award … )
and all the things I dearly love
and want to see one more time,
like snowdrifts and Christmas …

and then he asks:
Have you stopped bleeding
all over everything yet?

and I nod, assuming I have,
stopped, because my hands
are still warm, and I can still
speak, although my tongue
is swelling up fast. So I won’t
be dying today after all.
No ending this lovely song.

Day 28 prompt: Two-for-Tuesday prompt: Write a love poem. Write an anti-love poem.