Cavity ~ National Poetry Month, Day 27

She is a cavity
In the sticky blackness
Of the devil’s mouth
Hot with whiskey
She puts on her dress
Zipped up tight –
She is coming
For you.

You conjured her
From the trees
A body from the soil
Oh, how she came
With screaming
Howling Hunger…

You gave her but the smallest taste
And dropped her
In the weedy low plains
Muddy and furious
She rose.

Tonight the music
Will unhinge your handiwork
Her bare and dirty feet
On the floor
Red dress soaked in sweat.

Her mouth, will wander
Wet with promises
She will move her hips
And you will beg for it…

She will take you –
The sweet smell of rot
By the wrists
By the throat
With her knotted rope.

She’ll tie you to the bent oak
And have you
Every which way…
Only when she is quite through,
A salty film upon your skin
She will leave you
For dead.

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