She of talons, borne from gothic mind-
Steel of blue her chilly stare,
Pitch of black her fetid blood-
Whence there came an evil flare
To terrorise the weeping kind
Befogged in mental mire; to rape
The shore with phallic waves –
And all for lust, her one desire:
Corrupt the sand of innocence
Without a case for penitence,
Or cause for such as reticence –
While coming on her priapismic fire.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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Lust lust lust Lust lust lust Lust lust lust
Lust lust lust Lust lust lust Lust lust lust
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