Shaving

Her bedroom is an empty tomb, as far as I can see.
Lit by seven gates to hell, the floor is stone and empty.
Her daddy, Satan, stole my shirt,
Because it's cursed with grime and dirt.
The king's princess swore she'd clean his slave and primp me.
Whatever that could mean.

She leads me down dusted graves, a funeral fit for Pharaoh.
Fire torches flicker quicker, as she drags me deep below.
Swiveling her hips as she descends the marble stairs.
It's a hundred degrees too hot, but she doesn't seem to know or care.

Her fiery hair bobbs gently as she speeds me to the bath.
There's no tub or towel here, just a giant looking glass.
Before I can supress my fears, chains entwine my wrists.
She tells me not to worry, starts to turn, and blows a kiss.

Returning, I'm still dreaming of her fiery, pursed lips.
She twirls a tool I've never seen, a blade betwixt her fingertips.
My goosebumps twitter softly as she locks me in a lusty stare.
Metal swings at my chest, down falls the gritty hairs.

Tears twinkling in my eyes, "you can't take my manliness!"
"That's not all I'll be shaving" the evil witch insists.
A smile escapes the vile princess, and I note two sharpened teeth.
She shaves away my brushes, staring at her masterpiece.

Tattoos of her handprints suggest the places that we've been,
I blush in pride and prejudice, at the things my queen has seen.
In her clumsy speed, she cut deep besides my jaw,
Sucking softly, her mistakes, her teeth have rubbed the error raw.

The longer she prepares the wound, the weaker I become,
I don't halt this bleeding that my Goddess has begun.
Dying slowly, I'm paler, ill, her lips move in to kill.
But she smiles a ruby half moon, and lies beside me, paler still...
Somehow, I forgive her.


                                -Dorick