The Witch of Fuck

Hers are the midnight eyes
that spot easy
any lie
even when poised
between her supple thighs
or lost within a cacophony
of a thousand
unholy sighs

Hers are the reasons why
a god-awful tie
leaves you wound
yet quite unable to expound
a lost dog
desperate to be found

cuz your treasons
against her seasons
are the reasons
you cry

For Hers are the words
that will one day deify
or crucify

That butterfly, with the goldeneye
always singing, "shoo-fly" to those wise-guys
that still... expect her
to comply.


X
09/20/2020

© Raena Exe 2024
*All rights reserved.

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