The Flesh Was Hungry

The Flesh Was Hungry


Sorceress, with smile you beckon,
promised pleasures dark, fulfilling.
Costs, I know, too high to reckon,
quivering flesh is weak but willing.

Neck to toe in Spanish leather,
sweet and sultry curves to cover.
“Your soul is lost to me forever,”
softly snarls my demon lover.

I drift enchanted in a trance,
darker, deeper, drawn within.
Cupid plays the viper’s dance,
serpent swaying, sloughs her skin.

Her warm embrace constricts my breath,
while fingers trace their fiery path.
My senses reel as if in death.
Worldly weakness enflames her wrath.

Bloody furrows cut my back
arched to welcome searing pain.
Dripping fangs, my throat attack.
Feline fury springs again.

Sorceress, you repudiate
this worn and wasted, bloodless husk.
My loss too great to calculate,
I’m cursed to roam this realm of dusk.

I wish to thank MyDarkness for the inspiration for this poem.

ID: 1197973   (Rated: 18+) Petite Morte  A story about super natural evil, temptation and a different kind of undead! by Darkness

It was her character Mira, who haunted my imagination for days until this poem came out. Past girlfriends have also played their evil part.