he gave me a shabby old pouch
filled up with pomegranate seeds
& i wondered what this could mean
how fertile he wished me to be
he showed how many seeds i got
as much as happy days are left
& i swore we’d marry right there
no priest nor church ‘neath nude sun’s haze
he squeezed a seed ‘tween two fingers
& the juice sprinkled his palm red
like virginity on crisp sheets
i did not even hesitate
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024
The Grim Reaper isn’t a man. In fact, she’s quite becoming.
Naturally, no one dares to get into her skirt, but this doesn’t matter to her. The thrusts and twists of human courtship hold no interest. She has other concerns. Keeping her list of names updated. Restocking her biros. Ensuring her blade stays keen and shiny.
Nowhere does the ‘cut of her jib’ factor in.
Still, even the Reaper can possess a mortal weakness. Yes, even she can nurse a fondness for white, lace stockings. But she refuses to wear them due to her messy job.
Stockings rather become her.
by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2018
unbolt me 