She pours over you as though she’s hoping
to cleanse. Soft at first, like caring caress,
stroking your hair and face, fingers sloping
down your shoulders, clawing now to undress
you, soaking clear through to licked slicken pores.
Her breathing grows from sighing to panting,
then swells to heaving, explodes in a roar.
You try to pull away, trip her ranting
of how she’ll flood you with passion, control
your every dream, answer deepest desire.
Yet you sense she’ll maim you, destroy your soul.
You scream, naked skin scorched by streaking fire
from her flashing dark eye. You lunge to save
yourself, pray, stumble toward that distant cave.
Roger Armbrust
April 18,
2013
