The moment I was born, Death took my hand
And said, “One day, I’ll kiss you, little boy.”
Since then, she’s hovered close to where I stand,
Eyeing me like a baby eyes a toy.
She flirts with me with each new risk I take.
She tries to catch me every time I fall.
I slip her clutches every dawn I wake;
And when I drink, I hear her thirsty call.
Hers is the lechery that will effect
The consummation of my virgin years--
Each pass she makes at me I will reject
Until the one I don’t--and with hot tears
She folds me in the arms of the abyss
And sweetly makes me mortal with her kiss.
Copyright 2012 Matthew J Wells