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 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.