The Song Of Mors Poem by Gibson Bopoto

Danc'd with a stripper called death
Sweet glee of her gee string to see
Rousing, she bites my kissing teeth
And it doesn't hurt to some degree
Her writings frighten the ill ravens
That perch over my home at noon
Singing the angelus to the heavens
Her gluttony starves the full moon
As lusty scents make a age a cuckold
But IF, if forever was a known time
What fortune would we favor to hold?
Would we unwrap her prime regime
Hark! I ballot thee, o gift of death, i'll tune!
i'll embrace you! ...and get close to me


Would we unwrap her prime regi