The Angel of Death, Jean Jones poetry

The Angel of Death sleeps beside me
At night, her black hair, and dark eyes
Stare at me like photographs I have
Hanging from the wall, she is a skull
Grinning constantly at me, she is smiling
And her eyes flash every time she stares at me
I am in love with her
I want to go where she goes,
Where normal women can never go,
The place where we all meet in the end
The harvest ground, the wet, cold earth. . .
There is tiredness to this land
And everything in me feels it,
From the way I pour sugar in my coffee
Every morning to the time it takes
For me to close my eyes and remember nothing. . .
Everything is nothing to that smile you have, though
I want to go and find out where it comes from
Show me.

Image detail © Stephen Collector, see the complete Angel of Death image and more of his work at Artzar.com | Jean is co-editor of wordsalad.net