Hey, Reaper Man.
I saw you at the bar last night.
You were spilling
a ritual all over the dance floor,
bloody Mary
in one hand,
bloody Jo in the other.
They were giggling
and stumbling over your
sharp
leather shoes.
We shared a glance, you
and me. You remember.
You remember everything.
You
grinned.
You had a bone-
white set of
teeth that glowed
indigo in the blacklight.
I checked the paper this morning
for a bloody Mary and a bloodied Jo, and
I didn't find them. I bet
they’re just now waking up, wondering
who it was they danced with.
Why his hands were so cold.
You never offered to dance with
me. If you had, I think
I would have taken you
to bed.
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