Death Stix Poem by Quinn James

Death sticks to me
like a coat in the rain.
At the end of the street,
Death waits for me
like the end of a bar to a rhyme,
Like a matador
Awaiting his bull's demise
While the bull tosses its head with
spite to spit in Death's eye,
Knowing no bull makes it out alive.
I wait for you to speak but you remain silent...
In your eyes I see
Only my reflection staring back at me.
And your kiss, Death?
It tastes just like a cigarette.