Poem Hunter
EN ( / )


Demonic gold eyes
Search for me and
We stare each other down.
Finally I offer my finger:
It is rasp-licked.
She rubs her head against my hand
And serenades me
With a throaty mewling.
The masseuse in me
Massages her ears
And she outstretches
A full three to four feet
And yawns,
And combs the bristled growth
Concealing her assassin's mouth.
Leisurly she rises and brushes
against my triusered leg,
Speaking to me,
And creating a perfect parabola
As reward for my affection.

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