hushed sonnet to the prostitute (I)
i become the succubusto the men i adore
(i craved to stay blessed
and pure)
but i just turned into
the blessed whore
a pale wrist
tiny bitten nails
a delicate heart
twisted inside the serpent's scales
(balancing on my arm)
dark eyes with deep sighs
and i rely always
on my perfect charm
glances fixed my way
and they whisper
(that is the girl that
men spend time with when they have
girlfriends or wives
that is the girl who never is arm-in-arm
with anyone
she is the girl that we despise)
but they will never know
that i lock my door and i hide
inside of my den
(but the question that lingers:
is it with or without them?)
Poetry by anguisette
Read 1057 times
Written on 2008-10-17 at 09:17
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