Death And I, Two Solitary Lovers Poem by Johnson Emmanuel

Who have met death of lately
And thought it wise to have a chat with her?
For she sits alone on her dinning table
Her vision plagued with boredom.

I can read her silence that sings
Symphonies of solitude,
While life cycle around in her high heeled shoes,
Death is a loner making count
Of the veins of an oak wood.

Who have sat with death for a minute
And kissed her frenchly on her sultry lips
In an unromantic hour that yet can light a thousand street lights
Of the romantic?
And who have told death how much she is been hated
For her impartial ways?
And still could survive the hug of death for such
Rare revelation,
And get a rare handshake.

None, I have seen done this, none probably would
And still I sat in the conference of my solitude,
Death came knocking at my door,
With laughter and a cup of wine
We shared our solitude together
And made love under the pink moonlight
With breath and blood.