The moon shines over bats flying about
As nature’s nocturnal voices cry out
The summer is ripe, memento of hell
The air is filled with a smoke-burned smell
A sudden breeze enters chilling the town
As pools of sweat drip down to the ground
You stand naked near the woods’ edge
Holding a candle trembling in hand
Wandering as if tranced, so possessed
Feel a sharp prick tickling around your neck
Scraping flesh through the mist of night
Across your shoulder, down your wet thigh
Exasperated to submission of the dark
The cold body steals the warmth of heart
You turn to identify the beast drawing you in
Quaffing every juice that spills from your skin
And with our joining, breath to breath
I’ll bring to you a little death
Copyright 2003 Loser Johnson
Copying this work to another webpage without author permission is plagiarism.
Plagiarism is a misdemeanor, usually punishable by fines of $100-$50000 and up to one year in jail.
Comments on little death