The Hunt

Hard to put the right description. The poem speaks for its self.


1. The Hunt


As darkness falls, she lies in wait.

 Flesh of ivory. Hair of darkest ebony. Lips of sanguine. Eyes of the purest emerald.

 Whom dost he be this night. Heart so cold, it has to be. To keep her upon her chosen path.

  Slender digits stroke slowly the velvety speckled pelt beneath them. Biding her time until the moon be high. 

 Upon the midnight hour as the clock strikes twelve, she comes forth from her lair. Dressed to kill, yet looks not lethal.

 She stalks her prey. Tall. Dark. Ravenously handsome. Eyes as azure as the oceans. Soul, black as night. Yet concealed behind trusting smile.

 Coy, she plays as she catches his eye. Toying with him as if he a mouse. Silken words she weaves the web.

 He takes the bait so easily. Leaning in he gets to kiss her. For a moment, their lips touch. But a lady she be, never brazen in public. She draws back, enticing him with those emerald hues.

He follows her so willingly. Alone at last. The moth and the flame.

 Her ruby lips lay claim as his callus hands tease taunt Lilly-white mounds, barely hidden under her satin dress. Back and forth, they taunt one another, yet at this game, she is far better.

 Soon the rouge be unclothed. Fodder for the widow spider. The paleness of her flesh against his, a vast difference in hue. Ying and yang. Though, harmonious not.

  He leads his lamb to his sensual slaughter, or so he thinks. Flesh upon flesh, they writhe as one. Each taking from the other in mutual accord.

 She shifts though he thinks his doing, till straddled upon him. Emerald and azure hues locked one upon the other.

 Slowly she rides her steed. Taunting.  Teasing.  Until either can barely stand any more. Tis then, the widow strikes.

 As seed spills forth and juices flow, his jugular violently tapped.

 Tis not till euphoria of planting within his conquest begins to subside dost he feel of the sting of her death bite.

 Azure hues widen, yet move not he does. Frozen, half way between fear and lust his body unyielding, still hungry for her velvety flesh upon him.

Slowly, she draws forth the coppery crimson nectar, just as she grinds her hips against him in easy torture.

  Groans of mixed pleased and pain fill her ears. Purrs of satisfaction reverberate against his bloody, bruised throat. 

Like a lioness hold her prey within a death grip, so two, dose this beauty.

 Death comes slow to this gorgeous man, for a quick merciful death is too good for one so evil.

When but a few drops left, she releases his flesh only to look down upon him as she wickedly grinds against him.

  Azure hues stare up in conflicted confusion, until the last of his blood pools beneath him.

 Heart stops beating, lungs stop breathing. The human demon is no more.

 She of many names looks down at him, dare that be a tear upon her cheek.

 Though he be a monster deserving of her justice, he was not so different from she.

 Long hours, she sits upon her trophy, contemplating her next move.

 Yet, once more azure and emerald hues locked upon one another;

 However, only one can see.

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