Death wore a mask of fireflies when he arrived.
At his command, a cloak of butterflies clung to my shoulders,
fluttering, creating an iridescent heat,
an indigo flame,
an all but strange romance.

Death’s love was heat in a bottle,
ocean kisses, smothering and salty –
oxygen deprived, suffocatingly sweet,
I never knew a safe word.

Death proposed on bended knee,
presenting an onyx stone, infused with his blood.
Simply inscribed: Forever.

He always took me dancing.
He always kept his promises,

Together, we were never hungry.