Poems Primarily Narrative (or not)

Perilous Pollyannaism

Pretending to read, he held the paper

but the woman held captive his eyes

a winsome smile from pillow soft lips

encouraged his anticipation to rise

creamy skin, cheeks tinted apple

and luminous lime green eyes

ingredients for a deadly potion conveyor

Silk legs maneuvered in a classic cross

long fingers stroked a necklace

an elegantly emphatic nose tilted higher

he drinks in the lure of the captress

she turns her head, the auburn hair cascades

one eye glinting from a shadow's darkness

enticement toying with his basic ethos

He folds his paper and slowly nods

his own smile a nervous charm

she swivels toward him, back slightly arched

painted nails trail down one bare arm

the entire choreography surges in his blood

he absorbs the manipulations intended to disarm

subscribing to the dance against all odds

She rises, strides to the exit and into the night

he follows, lips and tongue cracking dry

outside she leans, one leg bent against the wall

he stands before her awash in her throaty sigh

she stands erect, her arms draped on his shoulders

immediately he pulls her close, impatience drawing nigh

a sensual sting upon his neck and he succumbs without a fight

She sways, eyes closed, in thrall of the vital force

some trickles shyly from her lip, finding its own way

inside her, life's a beating drum, death's rhythm

for a naïve puppet, wound around her fingertip, her prey

receives a small salute in final tribute of the evening's fun

then home to coffin wood and soil, a favourite place to stay

until, well rested, she can rise again to feed once more, of course