You lie in wait.
Catching her gaze becomes your challenge.
You analyze her steps.
While she starts the path into your core.
She walks blind. Unaware of what you are.
You say her skin is Heaven on your fingers.
You don’t touch
because she dissolves.
She enters your pores
And digs into what you are not.
You feel the lethargy of her presence.
You watch her move under your flesh.
With thread and string she weaves your muscles.
You’re not what she wields.
On cold nights
She leaves your insides for a while.
Hiding in your arm
Whispering she loves you.
She loves what she believes you are.
She undresses for you.
Teaches you the moondance
While the lunatics
Abandon their skins and join the commotion.
They adore what you are, when she’s under your skin.
You’re condemned as king.
She slithers under your flesh as ritual.
Wraps string between her fingers.
And together you go hunt