Thursday, August 9, 2012

Is This The Face

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

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