Perfumed with myrrh and gum-diseased her smile
that upward turned her plum-like lips, she waited
with a smirk that never touched her blood-stained eyes.
The left part of her face was youthful, peached,
the other grayish old and marked with leprosy.
I met her in the lobby-bar, where she had drained
her fifth Martini for the night— Surprised I
realized she knew my baptized names
as well as every secret moniker that’s been
given, gasped or whispered in the dead of nights.
“I’m Death, and I am tired”, she pouted, while she
used her burgundy fingernails, to draw designs and
numbers in the polished countertop. “I know how
many strokes of heart that’s left, I know, I sense
when you are ready for a tryst”, She pointed
at the right part of her face, “when I regain my youth,
when my disease is gone, we’ll kiss, and like
a lamb that’s led to slaughter you will follow me to bed.”
She rose to leave and I was left to pay her bill,
a small installment for the gold I’m due to pay.
September 18, 2016