Venom Lady
Venom lady of black and red,
of lips of wine and feet of roses,
walking across the waters
in slender ankles and shiny gams,
of prominent undulations
swathed in a creamy skin,
soft arms of supple porcelain,
upward palms and gentle tears,
angel mouth and smiles of charity,
a safe haven with arms outstretched,
a soft bosom for his head to lay,
a voice of poetry and quiet doves,
a glimmering halo above her head,
an exotic thrill in her electric fingers,
a strangeness never felt before,
a fever running into his loin,
leading him to her bedroom,
a new world of red velvet and lace,
a soft journey into a heated labyrinth
where he saw fire and
swarming dark angels with iron nets,
an entanglement with no way out,
a losing of the identity,
a surrender of the self to her authority,
a melting down of proud morals,
a feeling of her venom reaching inside,
letting it seep through his pores,
feeling it casting out the old
and bringing up the new,
letting it rise up to the brim,
a new nectar to sweeten the palate,
a new blood of his blood,
a new God of his God,
and a new home to call home.
