A.W. Books & Poetry

Otherworldly sire of destruction,

Dawn the gavel upon Diana’s throat,

As the match licks the grout,

Smooth like silk on ebony wood,

A snake’s tongue around the neck of a shrew.

Lips of vermillion, eyes of insatiability:

You’re after the gold in them.

Phantoms on pique.

Memories, the misanthropes like to say,

Let the judiciary decide capriciously:

How can something so beautiful

Be tainted so cruel?

~Annalise