By Mushroom Montoya
In the darkest hours of last night,
After the moon had disappeared,
And slumber had me sleeping,
Death reached up from the floor,
Crawled into my bed,
Plumped his butt on my left shoulder,
Pinching my arm,
And sinking his teeth
into the left side of my neck,
startling me wide awake.
“No!
Don’t you dare
take me now,”
I said. “I’m not ready.”
“I’m hungry,” Death said.
“I’ll take another bite.”
He lifted his face and smashed his teeth,
Stinging and burning
Further into my neck.
I swung my head to the left,
Failing to fling him off.
He rolled his face against my jaw
Scratching it with his thorny,
Unshaven whiskers.
His breath matched mine,
Breathing in and out,
In and out,
Both of us pushing against each other,
While the sneaky bastard slid his fingers
Down my chest,
Toward my belly button,
Reaching for my life force.
I grabbed his boney wrist
And yanked it away.
“No! I am not yours.
Not tonight.”
He slowly extracted his teeth
From my neck
And took his heavy butt
Off my shoulder.
His whiskers stung my jaw
As he slunk away.
Slumber sat at the edge of my bed
Watching me,
Listening
to my breathing
Waiting to be sure
It was a solo breath
Before she closed my eyes
And let sleep return.
I could smell Death when I awoke
This morning.
Death took our parakeet,
Since he couldn’t take me.
