For whatever reason, I wrote a fairy tale poem a few days ago.
Her name was Acrid
Her coarse red hair sliced her lovers
Before they could feel her skin
“Stand back” her scent ordered
Yet there was something in her pungent
Flavor that aroused those certain
Boys, that caused them to flail,
helplessly, as her lengthy russet
tresses drew blood and her breasts
waited, untouched, wanting, pure
His name was Bane
Acrid was his aim
He brought a scythe and wore a hood
Surprising her he reached deeper
He crushed her shivering mane
and silenced her body’s plea
for touch with a quenching so fine
so artful and frightening and gentle
viscerally wild and unfamiliar that
in those stolen few moments
they felt, together, what bliss is
Until that moment when Bane’s destruction
Partnered with Acrid’s bitter aftertaste
they became tepid, together
just another suburban couple
looking for some form of satisfaction
in SUV’s and little league and bunco
and the occasional Parent-Teacher conference
Or “Who is there?” Cocktail party
Her shorn hair glistened he got rid
Of his signature hood for leather
Sometimes, at night, especially,
they wondered if that brief memory
actually happened
Bane and Acrid –
In that long ago moment
Were beyond words beautiful
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