I shall have my great escape.
Not at this hour, or close to this day.
But note tender, I am coming.
I but stroll in this corridor and listen.
The voices call, some crawl, stall
the inevitable free flight fall.
Get into your ball, delicate doll.
It is coming.
The earth, dear tender, settles.
Don’t meddle in what you don’t know.
The label clearly said to only crack my skull
if one needs to taste my scent
or expire my soul.
There you are Death.
I’ve been looking.
Take my hand, so we may take flight.
Ponder, poor saunter, save your might.
Care free, under the lover tree,
long we kiss into the predawn light.
The end sees we are ready, and pulls the plug.
Tender, hold on tight. Death, it’ll be alright.
Onwards, forwards, together into the great white.