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  • carlyand2

The Reaper Takes What's Left

Death came to me with a face like yours

and I ushered him into my living room,

let him sit on my couch with ink-stained skin

that bled on gray fabric ‘til it pulsed with blue.


I offered him a drink made of syrup and spice

and then sat at his feet and felt long

supple fingers get lost in my hair.


I dreamt death smiled with a light like yours,

and laughed with a darkness that whispered

of nights that dripped salt off his chin

till it ran down his chest and collected

in his lap and the hands that are braided

in brown still smell like the depths of the sea.


Death came to me with a face like yours,

with arms like yours that encircled me,

grew thorns, pulled tighter, refused

to let go--till I was marked as his.


But unlike you, he never left,

and most days, I wanted him to.


But he smiled like you.


Close enough.


I let him stay.


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