Mounting the out,
skirts convening demons
with an arch moon of bright thigh.
Death sighed bloodlessly
Shook like a dandelion, she bit down –
a mandala of lunacy and limbs.
Death idly spun the wheel.
“It’s a grim night for a reaper”, he moans
“Another haunted Antigone”
delaying fate for the enchanting torture
of one more dance alone
beneath a dog-black sky.