when i meet the maker
she
is  no man but a woman
with a cigarette in one hand and exhilaration in the other
with love in one eye and disdain in the other.
i look at her as she looks at me
with
those
eyes
she raises an eyebrow as those
eyes
sweep over m e
‘why are you here’
the question hangs in the air such as a bird would before it has to choose whether to fly or
fall
‘to meet you’ i answer
she just throws her head back and laughs
the sound of
bells filling the void
though i grow cold and frightened when the sound reaches me
‘what’
she locks
eyes
with me, sending shivers along my spine
then her answer chills me to the bone
her idea her question hangs in the air like an
angel
‘what makes you think i want to meet you’