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.
