by Jennifer Dedmon



She dances her spider webbed dance
each move set with
exquisite passion and grace
her body a living shadow
moving as if controlled by the wind
so vulnerable,
yet so skilled in all of her movements
she is the tainted angel,
the one who carries my death
in her innocent hands
she brings relief to a torchered life,
drugs me with her poison and sets me free
her wings of feathers so pitch
that would make the deepest night
seem to glow
brings me comfort
my death rides on those wings
and I welcome it
how can you run from
a thing you wish to embrace?



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