Mr. Reaper

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The internal clock stops and I scan my surroundings.

Flashing lights.
Thrusting beat.
Crazy night.
Tangled heat.

My skin is slicked with sweat when I see him and I know somehow that he is here for me.

Pulsing masses.
Grinding hips.
Erratic bass.
Meshing lips.

I dance my way over to my savior and fleetingly finger the true accomplice in my crime.

Rip rattle.
Brittle gaze.
Cold metal.
Life’s just a phase.

He watches me with hooded eyes and I pull him closer when he tries to melt away.

Scarred face.
Lonely man.
Solemn mouth.
Failing plans.

“I think you’re handsome,” I smile and he gently, reverently wraps his arms around me.

Shaking fingers.
Feather touch.
Breath lingers.
Not enough.

“What do you want?” his voice is gravelly, deep with streaks of sorrow.

Straining tiptoe.
Gripped thigh.
Fading tomorrow.
Death’s sigh.

“Come to my funeral, Mr. Reaper.”

Trembling gun.
Clenched fist.
Setting sun.
Salty kiss.

“Of course.”