Your shadow has fallen over this place like the plague. The chandeliers cower at your advent, collapsing atop this innocent crowd; yet the violins still play.
Your presence ensues consternation. Who's next? Who's time is it?
It is I from which your invitation has been sent. I am elated you could make it.
My mask is you, with rose patterns aligned, a gown to match, with a bone breaking corset. From my painted lips,
Will you save me this dance?
Face to face, chest to chest, force each breath from my lungs. Twirling now to my sounds, I follow your lead. Dip me back into your arms, my sweet, finally reaping me with a kiss.
*You are my only love.
This is an alt. to my letter "Dear Reaper," . I wanted to write in two perspectives. In both, there is a want to die, but the first focused on the environmental aspect of death. This one, on the Reaper himself.