It’s a well-kept secret—

put a bag over my head
and I’m stunning—please
disregard the occasional
rattle and hiss.

My body—
how enticing—
my limbs
long and supple,
my fingers ambi
& dextrous,
my ankles pliant & resilient.

From the neck down
I look good enough to eat—
honeyed skin, 
choke cherry nipples,
apricot breasts.

Over a meadow 
my gait might glide
bouncy and bubbly
in pine-scented air.

With the paper sack over my head
I come across happy—yet—
light a match
how I gutter and burn
scorched as a candlewick.
I am wicked. I am ravenous—
contemptible
charred to the marrow. 

My tortured path slinks,
slides—slithers,
winds & twists.
Night glides behind me 
unfolding wing-like—
unruffled and still.