Till again we meet, till death.

When these eyes close to see more clearly,
they see only her.
They see her most clearly today.
In a cloudy town,
many leagues from here,
an angel now chills with blackies bottles,
laughing with loved ones
having the time of her life.

She wears a flimsy croptop
and short pants.
Her hour glass figure,
her bright eyes,
her magickal-scented hair;
every skewed tooth and crimson lips.
Her cackling laughter
turns to a gentle snore when she sleeps.


These eyes may never see her in manifestation again.
In time, these eyes will close for all infinity.
The last image they will see
will be her fading silhouette
as all finaly goes dark.

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