The Angel...

The angel of death watches over me; Presiding, a faceless black valkyrie With eyes of varnished jet And the soul of a chastened murderer He loves me, he wants me - he yearns… He dreams of the day when I will come home Into his eternal embrace, Into his realm of fire and snow I wonder if he would make me his queen, I wonder if my crown would be of thorns Or bleeding roses? I do long for him sometimes, In the night, in the dark, when my blood is cold And the loneliness is a vicious ache, Deep down in the pit of my heart Then I sigh out the name of Death, My hand clasped to my breast, And each breath grating through my lips We were made for each other, death and I We are two withered peas, Locked in a shrivelled pod – We are the anti-Christ, the anti-life, We are the scorch of hell fire on flesh And the taste of arsenic on your tongue Oh I may be mortal now, vulnerable as a fawn, But my sands are ebbing, time is running out And soon I will fly to meet him, dear Death, On his skeleton horse in a suit of charred armour My knight, my night… My black night I have become accustomed to the dark, It soothes me, A vampire it has made of me, shunning the light Cringing from sunshine, hiding my eyes I want to bury my face in the nape of death, In his swirling ebony hair, And be cocooned in its smothering gloom