His voice is thick with cocky
not my usual tempter

I feel his eyes on me, he prances
across stage, Molly to his fans

Soon I'm standing alone, spectral
light in unyielding black



He now calls me his muse
I've yet to tell him I wish to retch

Then he grins, I yield
and become flesh between his teeth

08/19/2011

Posted on 09/12/2011
Copyright © 2025 S. Pelham Flood