++The Lolita Poems: Meeting Mr Death++

Irregardless of pity,

I do not want your pity,

For I am the master of my end


And if Death was a sir, and a man,

I'll be his ruler, or will kiss his hand.


If Mr Death was having his cup of earl grey tea,

And if I sat in at his tea party,

I'll dress up in my most Victorian Frock,

I'll take my plush puppy too for a walk.


Round the thick hedges of white roses gold,

and around the green emerald leaves of olde,

I shan't, I shall, I wilt not slumber,

under the heady smell of rosewood desires.


And if Mr Death was as handsome as can be,

lanky and tall, fit and dandy,

With a silken top hat and a fine walking stick,

With a fitted vest underneath the charcoal black coat,

I will still hold my own basket and pluck my bouquets,

I'll still tie my own houseboys in navy blue ribbons gay


I'll take my garnet rings and my mandarin silk sash,

I'll hold my mandolin with my peach plum bonnets,

I'll walk with the orange blossoms that cling to my dress,

I'll pink my lips on lush peaches demure.


With my chiffon bows fluttering through the thick autumn winds,

I'll button up my Edwardian collar,

I'll arrange my ruffled creme laces galore,

I'll say "Mr Death, farewell, till the End.

Your wish to be Master is only if you can"


and Mr Death will grab me and hold my wrists to his ruby lips,

A parted mouth, a cool breath on the naked limb,

his cheekbones that cut lines onto my fair white skin,

His blue eyes that speak of Death's cold rushing river,

His black hair that cloaks and cloys at all that glimmers


And as he fingers and lips linger with each hesitating touch,

I feel my heart grow colder and deader by the slow ticking second,

For though I hide myself in my Lolita adornments,

I am naked and human and weak to death.


Irregardless of your pity,

I do not want your pity,

I am, I am,

the Master of my end