Forty Six

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.
Help.
You proffer your hand, promise with a nod.

Mister Death, I remember your eyes most.

5 thoughts on “Forty Six”

  1. 😀 why shouldn’t Death smoke?adds to his character. however stupid the act of it.you always get my posts. it’s just that i like waylaying everyone with detail and messing with everyone’s mind =D

  2. Whoa.The exact reaction i coughed up. A smile stopped in its tracks.Really, really nice(speaking, not just about this post).

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