Nightcap (Poetry)

I sipped a cup with Death last night, fleetingly —
he said he didn’t like me that much yet
to spend more time with me.
I wheedled and I clung, persuasive with my pleas —
he tugged away, said he should go, grew more evasive
the more I tried to corner him
with urgent words and played stubborn to provoke
some kind of reaction from this shifty, sexless bloke.

He turned on me, offensive when attacked —
swore I’d burn, my soul already blacked from meddling
and what did I expect?
I couldn’t answer because I didn’t know
where those I’m missing ultimately go...
He shrugged. I’d failed to touch him, couldn’t lock
whatever door might hold him — the potent spell half said
before his dregs — darkness brewing strong —drugged my head
and he was gone.