Silversnaking on its cheap reflection
his gaze seeks upward thighs, delight
of tender talons,
eyes to rip her stockings.
Rainy nights are rotting teeth seduction.
tapered fingers, priestlike, locking
round his silver crutch,
his thirst is might, yet waiting…
Darkly as a needle finds his vein
it’s neon bright
when from the church the midnight tolls
and heard the frantic footsteps
soles on asphalt, puddlesplashing
keychain in her fist, his breath behind.
Her door to safety a block ahead
heartbeats in her throat
a taste of copper, bloodrushed pace.
She fumbles with her keys,
a muffled voice behind:
“It’s me, my darling, it’s just me”
Linked to Magpie tales.
January 4, 2016