Of course
This is what you call murder.

Not dead, not yet
Just reduced
To the most basic
Primitive soul

Only sensations left in my head
Only one
Lost all feeling in all parts except the ones touching you

Just like a movie:
Spy against spy
Lover against lover
Kill or die on your wedding bed

Since it's me or you
I can give up.

If this is murder,
It is gentle
Even poison gone unnoticed
Blanking the eyes, stilling the heart
Without so much as a single tinge of pain
Could never be as gentle

As your hands against... what part of me?
Is it my waist still? Or my neck?
My nerves all run together, else gone numb...

But if I'm still alive now, you should know
I rather enjoy this.