Photo by Graham A Stephen (http://geotopoi.wordpress.com)
He knocked on my door the other night –
smiling, yet there wasn’t light in his eyes.
I poured him a glass of wine.
Our fingers brushed – he was cold to the touch.
He played with my hair and stared intently.
Listen, there’s no way of saying this gently.
Gulping down the wine, I prayed to be brave –
listening to all the things he had to say.
He leaned in close; I could smell his cologne.
All night I’ve thought of you being here alone.
Wrapping his arms around me; there was no escape.
His breath was like the Arctic wind in my face.
It’s time to leave this place and be with me.
I’ll hold your hand through this dismal journey.
I’m not going anywhere. I shook my head; pushing away.
His grip tightened. The room spun and started to sway.
Holding me close, his lips met mine.
My heart stilled, and I felt strangely calm.
Have we ever met? Who are you? I asked.
His eyes roved over me possessively.
Most people like to call me “Death.”