She scurries down to meet the maker

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