He slithered into my life
during an Alaskan winter phase.
Pale blue crystals in his eyes,
a smirk that could seduce a demon.
With cubic-zirconium scaled skin
he tempted; my own Eden dilemma.

31 lip-hued apples,
each as irresistible as the next Golden Delicious:
no blemishes that could be seen, no bruises
bleeding like the will of an undernourished

hapless sap clinging to his Shakespearean sonnets,
no olfactory, tactile, or visual warnings
of the carnage, the wounds beneath the waxy flesh,
the insatiability left behind after one tentative yet yearning bite.

12/23/2008

Posted on 12/24/2008
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