The inkwell tumbles over welkin and wit;
her seething susurrations invite slumberous disregard.
The puissant voluptuary,
swallows me with magmatic lips,
melting resolve and self-control.
Fervid angst transudes through saucers
into lacustrine stains
and chilling horripilation;
restrained by fists of silk and ichor ropes.
She chases me through my tenebrous id,
past the inescapable eyes of lecherous flies,
the cunning guise of treacherous lies,
and emotional moors of sanguinolent dyes.
Her torment reigns until sunlight laves the room,
and she discards the ossified remains
of this tremorous calyx.
I watch in awe, rent and raw, through smaragdine diaphaneity,
as others wake from restful repose. And I wonder how…
I anticipate nightfall, lachrymal, and her unwelcome company.