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Reaper
May 3, 2013
Lists of past victims fall from
the folds of the abyss that stares
silently
as we pour a glass each:
quick potation.
Nimble fingers pull the steel piece
from the robe of the presence that
craves
the metallic scent of our blood:
click rotation.
Ultraviolet rays touch the fine
strands of our hair which tosses with the
waves
as we sleep our souls away:
sick flotation.
Smoke tendrils reach the ancient
face of the darkness watching our
dance
in the blue murk casting its sly grin:
nick notation.
© Lacey T., Wasilla, AK
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