The angel of death

I once met the angel of death,
while I was walking down the road.
I saw people driving metal horses,
but a black beast he rode.

He had wings of satin black,
and hair as smooth as silk.
His almond shaped eyes seared through your soul,
with irises as white as milk.

On his shoulder perched a raven black,
with eyes as white as his.
He was beautiful in the way,
that only death is.

He took my hand in his,
and gently stroked my hair.
He kissed me softly on my lips,
until I was lost in his pearly stare.

For, if he was the angel of death,
I was his true wife.
He was the giver of death,
and I was the angel of life.

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