She scurries down to meet the maker
Making her body boil
She puts a hand between her thighs
This time she will not be ignored
He serves her tea from minced bones
Percolate, he turns her blood to oil
She veils her soul with spider webs
She won’t let him take full control
And so they sit so prim and proper
Each side waiting to explode on the other
She leaps forth with pointed toes
Sliding down between his spread legs
Each limb examined
Her meat will generate a fortune
Breast tightly press against her hands
His full intention sprung up along beside her
He turns to grab his wooden axe
Her fingers curiously test the blade’s prickly prick
Tailor made chamber maid
Her skin was made to bleed
Arms flare back and as quick as a snap
Her head goes tumbling forth
Skinned and tagged,
Her follicles all accounted for
Her flesh is perfumed for a market trip
The meat neatly stacked and adorned
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
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