She Was The Devil
The city lay quiet;
shattered, said my feet.
Swallowed long since by the world.
Trees bent in, heads to the ground like businessmen;
Branches wreathed across lone desks,
through broken windows,
stopped just before cracked one-way streets.
I, the solitary traveler
found my rest beneath the bridge.
As I lay my head, a force rose above the broken rock
yet, I held no fear.
This figure, as it approached me
set my humors alight with that predatory dread
of tenebrous fascination.
A porcelain body, freckled in temptation;
and the eyes, ah the eyes!
The type of emeralds you’d find deep in vein.
No clothes, I came to know for woman,
as kept her secrets bare
as an offer, come to me, a pact held in embrace.
I took it, of no bodily charm,
enthralled as I was, in deeper thought.
What held me so, within in that gaze,
before her altar
marked the fall of glory
to the tastes of all temptations;
civilizations marked to fall,
lords of men sapped to their knees,
masters led on by the needs
of servants, to share within that power
excess.
For a time, I knew these things
in the seconds of our held contract;
until she loosened, absence stuck;
no lust, for power or of woman,
no knowledge, or deign to take the world.
Put simply, I felt freedom, then
in the pulling tug of entropy,
the romanticism leading down
to a bed of thorns, never before
or since so comfortable to me.
Until I awoke, and she was no more
save an impression burned
like marked cattle
within whatever skin has bore my soul;
she was The Devil
and I watched over her.
