I see her blood relation to death, in the wrinkles of her forehead,
Yet, I want her.
Her heavy breath, lingers out, over her damp lips
A soft invitation, through my mind.
She slowly pulls me, closer to her smooth, magazine face
With her hypnotic, inhaled breath, full of mystery. ~excerpt from poem
"With Death's Cousin,"
The Tuxedo Archives: Vol. 2010
, Article 2.
Available at: https://scholar.dominican.edu/tuxedolit/vol2010/iss1/2