My eyes are open,
Though I wallow lazily in half sleep,
And you, all scent and sound, are just a shape;
A shape in the dark lying at my feet,
Dragging you nettle lips over my thighs.
Perhaps you're torture,
Some collective and blissful memory
That man cannot so easily forget;
A silhouette, scorpion like and lithe,
With seeing orbs weaved of black midnight glass,
That see far too much;
Seeing me too well.
Your succubus slaves dance around us now,
Draining deep glasses of vitality,
Holding your arms down at your supple sides;
Each ending with a brutal, rending claw.
Could he not succumb?
Your smile a promise of virginity,
You would and could never see fair to keep,
Beacause you are inviolate and pale,
Inhuman and feline to one and all;
Bright sanity perverted.
Such silence follows,
As, unmoving, you beckon me to rise,
And like the sun over shadow I do.
Different. No longer your God, I am changed.
See me as roaring and unchained cruelty
Yet still your barbs would win.
Your violent tail does rise at each offence
To your delicate, porcelain flesh.
Like death, sudden is it's strike at me
Leaving behind a sore but welcome sting
I will never forget.
Reposted for One Shot Wednesday at http://www.onestoppoetry.com