DISCLAIMER: This is a sensual poem and contains some sexual subject matter.
She sends them out
like daggers dressed in distractions
(pretending to be)
–looks of interest–
but really they are
Entire lifetimes are lived
–in her head–
she pierces you.
She can penetrate even the most
shielded of gazes,
finding just the right balance of
whatever it is she is craving
and whatever it was they were
She raises her arms and stretches.
Begins her scan
like she is in heat
and can smell her prey.
Lets her eyes wander around
as she watches for a catcher
–while sometimes deflecting another’s dagger–
and when she inevitably catches one:
Gently at first,
because that’s how they act like they like it.
But rough in the end because
that’s how they all really like it.
Well, the catchers, that is.
She’s a mix of both.
And that’s why she lives
in-between the world of daggers and shields and sharpened things.
she thought it was her light of need
but realized it wasn’t light
since it caused them to bleed
She can find a chink in their armour
from the moment they beg for surrender.
Like a tedious flap that needs lifting or perhaps a shifting
from their current reality
to a moment of seductive clarity.
Once her position is set
she caresses each blade
–licks them wet–
and starts to get
a sensual dance of vibrations
that soaks through their hardest of membranes.
She pushes each one in
–when they aren’t looking–
and forces another one in when they are looking.
She smiles every time
she stabs them,
enjoying the glutinous rhythm
of letting each one sink
She gives them a wink
as she brings them to the brink
The purity in their eyes
just before they realize
she’s filled them full
why she does it
time after time.
She has an insatiable hunger
to haunt them forever.
She knows they’ll never forget
the pain, the burning, or the turning
from hurting to pure bliss.
A poisonous kiss like hers
for years and years.
The reflection of her destruction
can be seen in the aftermath of
their lives as they try to disguise
their need for her.
Because once they bleed for her,
they always come back.
Their counter attack
sets the tone for the next wave
and whether or not she allows them back in.
Rarely does she give second chances.
But in the off-chance she finally does–
the moment she prances
She’s caught them in their glances
forever trapped inside
Bleeding out for the rest of time
inside her head
entire lifetimes lived
by dying over and over again
as she pushes each dagger