She is my Madonna who lives to stalk the bars,
a vampire of hearts,
sorceress swaying her will over minds,
who wears an ivory facade before public eyes,
but at night her succubus stroll enslaves.
My black rose of silky lace petals,
that I can’t resist or stop craving
even though her eyes flare in hunger,
a ravenous need no one man can satisfy.
Upon her bed she deflowers my inhibitions,
stripping away the veil of morality,
I can’t stop the spell, her dark enchantment
dragging me constantly
into the abyss of taboo tempting treats,
writhing on a mattress of moans,
insanely inflaming with her array of leather torments.
Though my brain screams no,
to let the reason buffer my lust,
one long, wet kiss from her lips
destroys controls shield.
She’s stabs me with her tales
about the bodies she has tasted,
of all the secret lairs in forbidden
roamed as a predator.
Even though truth seldom drips
from the honey in her words,
no sorrow comes from her mouth,
only a narcotic sultry invitation,
sucking me farther into the world
where nothing is sacred
and death is waiting for her next caress.
How the morning impales my heart
when I see her side of the bed empty,
knowing she’s on the prowl again,
yet burning with an obsession,
that sickness of addiction to her magic,
wishing for deliverance
praying it never comes.
Silver trophy winner
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