Santa Muerte, hear me: you are my last shot.
Lady of the Night: my jealous skeleton.
I promise to tell no one about us—
how you inhabit me, put the world in my hands.
How I dress you in red robes
& in green.
How your hourglass almost stops time.
People might guess when they smell
your incense on my clothes
& see me glowing
from the decomposition of my troubles.
We’ll exchange knowing glances,
your other admirers & I—
we are in this together.
Our shadows don’t disappear
when the sun goes down;
they simply become one.
Señora, you have us for life.
*
See the Wikipedia article.