If I may have it when it?s dead

I will contented be;

If just as soon as breath is out

It shall belong to me,

 

Until they lock it in the grave,

?Tis bliss I cannot weigh,

For though they lock thee in the grave,

Myself can hold the key.

 

Think of it, lover! I and thee

Permitted face to face to be;

After a life, a death we?ll say, -

For death was that, but this is thee.

-- Emily  Dickinson