The Final Dance: Poetry

He rides in
a big black
Buick,
hat slung
low on his
massive brow,
eyes of
midnight
burning coal

I do not
move as he
unfurls
from the
vehicle,
a solid mass
of dark

"Are you
who I think
you are?"
I ask,
standing
on the path

He nods
once,
hooked
his fingers
on the trigger
of his guns

I return
his somber stare,
then slide
my Tatianna blades
from their casings

They gleam
in the kitana slice
of twilight,
ablaze with
lightning

The air smells
of leather and
chains and
fresh corpse

"Come, Death,"
I taunt,
Mugai-ryu
in my every
motion.
"Let us dance."

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