Limerence

Dark limerence,
she thought it not,
a lustful muse,
an artist sought

What happens then,
she’s not to blame,
her dark passenger
feels the same

For art she sits,
once taken in,
the other paints
in scarlet sin

One a killer,
one lets her kill,
leaving naught
but painter still

Lone seductress,
cleaved discrete,
each encounter,
e’er complete

Who’s the artist,
who’s the muse,
they leave together
so needn’t choose

*apologies, I still have Ophilia on the brain
art: What I’ve Tasted by Elly Smallwood

7 thoughts on “Limerence

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