the kill

image: glenn kristoffersen

thick liquid velvet, in
delicate rivulets, flows
from her hungry lotus flower
her spirit throbs,
an angry carbuncle
seething, barbed pain -
womb-crushing,
demonic possession - her rage

silently, she savours her prey -
weak ... impotent ... desperate
his voice, a wilting, pitiful mewl -
engorged with a thirst for his agony:
silken exsanguination
she bathes in his terror,
piercing his salty, rich flesh
with her ivory spires

his throaty croak, ebbing
into a murky dusk
screaming convulsions
of his naked flesh, glistening
in the deft movements
of her hands, teeth and tongue
rapture and torment converge -
an erotic tempest

she wears his primal fear
like a shimmering gossamer sheath
her gleaming blade glides
across his softly trembling throat
mesmerizing ... intoxicating
a sticky, crimson geyser
thick and warm
pulsing ... spraying ...
like the sound of a gentle rain

death lingers in the diffuse sound
of his gurgling - gentle,
like the gurgling of a babbling brook
with a gutteral moan
his spirit retreats
dissevered,
from his raw, pulpy husk
her rage, melted into nothing