Forty Six

Posted on April 30, 2008


Perfect summer’s evening.

I’m in my cotton dress. You’re suited.
We laugh.

There’s breeze. There’s silence.

I walk the wall, flip-flops in hand.
You, dear gentleman, put out your cigarette in abject worry.

I stop. I look at you.
You proffer your hand, promise with a nod.

Mister Death, I remember your eyes most.

Posted in: 55, Prose