Wednesday, October 21, 2009

3 Words

Death asked for Love.
She wasn't home.
Her beauty went out for the evening
To bathe in the adoration of another.
Death sits on her front steps,
Twiddling thumbs and gnawing gums.
Death will wait for her.
Her gorgeous gaze
His waning ways

Pale pink and peeling,
Love's painted porch
Houses Death's fading breath
So help his heavy head,
May not even Death die alone.

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