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Monday, May 30, 2011

#150 Death of Kiss


Funerals are for the living
Not the dead

That said

Who will pipe our souls to heaven
Without the scores who mourn
And sing their hymns of sweet grace?

Death awaits
Arms open
Mouth agape

We are drawn
To kiss
That yawning maw

Inevitably
Endlessly
Marching
To this certainty

That said

I hope that death
Dresses up for me
Paints it’s face
Puts on a dress
And walks with a whore’s grace

So when I approach it in that dark alley
X number of days hence
I’ll be eager to make it’s acquaintance
And run to it’s embrace

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