Provocation My bare feet touch the snowy ground to bear me away, the path I walk upon is crisp and cold, hauntingly familiar yet strangely out of context in the unwavering distorted moonlight. I leave to greet an acquaintance, one I've taunted and teased for years; tonight I finally succumb to his gentle yet persistant supplication; patient though he has been, I fear he will grow weary of the amusement I find in eluding his advances. I witness him from a distance making his way toward me in his slow, somber habit; as he approaches, he holds out his hand, flashbulb white and lacking hide. I catch sight of a gleam where there are no eyes; laughing, I grasp his hand and, executing a perfect pirouette, I dance back to my home to abide by the fire; and await once again his next endeavor at solicitation.

2000 Mary Coleman

What It Means...

She's dancin' with the devil in the pale moonlight. (lol) More like dancing with death, that's what it's about, except where death usually makes the choice of whether to take you or give you another chance, she is making the choice, teasing him with the promise of her life, only to dance away from him yet again.  This is my only attempt at creating poetry that isn't so personal.  I'm not sure if I'll do this again, but it was fun.