Witch

Eyes, rivulets of red that run beneath a canopy Of green-tinged lashes – Tear blood playing on the grey-white skin, Stretched across the twin peaks of cheekbone. That slender pillar of a neck – Magnet of eroticism, blinds to Veins gorging on the flesh, Dancing under pulse of blood – Or whatever pumps inside. Coal-black lips word intentions – Castigations – variations of the horror She was born to be. O the hair! – a flame-orange avalanche Thundering down to Hell Where seething mounds of torn bodies lost their souls To viler wants and fouler holes of Scatological minds. And the plunge of lavish breast – E’er the siren’s weapon! – Baits the mortal man – Were he to chance his hand across The certainty of doom. But still we go, our weakness on display – Hers will not a challenge be to see to our decay. Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011 Under lust rain lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust lust