Although respecting capering Death
he flirts with Her,
in all Her mistress roles and guises;
lifts Her skirts,
inhales Her essence.

And whilst new-sprung amazed,
he cannot yet allow
Life’s renewed bequest,
for Death’s siren echo
still resounds.

So he looks for, abets,
thus finds,
a self-dismemberment that suits him,
fits him;
knife in sheath.

Noose on neck;
tightens
(when Love pulls a little further away
at everything he’ll do or say);
rips him.

Grips him
(in the slow asphyxiation
of Love’s fading expression).
And Death’s proxy, Loss,
looks on and smiles.