Richard Brautigan

Her physical presence was like a meeting place between day and night, where day was the majority and night's minority was her narrow eyes and her midnight starless hair.
She turned and reached up like dew on early morning grass and took his face in her hands and let it sweetly down until their mouths were touching.
Then her hands fell away from his face and settled like pioneers on his hips.
He thought his heart would stop.
His own funeral flashed across his mind.