by Nick Gisburne
She wears the darkness like a skin of smoke
A sultry, shifting swarm of silk and mist
With every flexing finger, every stroke
She sends a thrill, a threat, a tease, a twist
Her shadow, black, a wicked wall of night
Invades the shameful centre of the soul
She feeds upon the fever of the fight
Resist her, but forever lose control
She burns for blood, a hunger of the heart
A scourge, a storm of lechery and lust
Her kiss, a curse, the deepest, darkest art
She feeds upon the weak, because she must
Surrender, as she opens every vein
Surrender, to the poison and the pain
