Temptress On Bed

The anti-Christ sits on her bed jealous and scared.
Her blood red hair fires thoughts of prehistoric passion
Gems align her dark in bedazzling arrays of love & lust.
She tells me how much she aches for deeds to be done, but motivation lacks within.

I rest cross legged before her, smiling and pondering on the meaning of life.
I came to her in the middle of the night & now it’s half past evening.
Thursday’s downpour continues at the entrance of the cave
I cleaned her room in fits of boredom, God had ventured too far away to beseech.

Her name is silent, for I can not tell you the secret of my desire, though she is beauty & I miss her when she’s not around.
She’s plucking at her nails & I’m lost in space.
Pictures of the past decorate her home.
My perfect match in many ways.

A vest of innocence drapes across her delicate chest, beads of hope lie delicately upon her bed of hate.
I kissed her once, in a land and dream far, far away. I was younger then.
But I returned.
For the stillness of my life request constant feeding.
I ache for her.

I’m hungry. & tired. & stolen. & lost. & I ponder how I can seduce her now.
But the anti-Christ doesn’t care. She gives no love.
All woman perhaps, with the beauty of her youth intact, but cruel.
Like every woman I’ve ever met. Dishonest & brutish in the realities of the day.

& so I sit estranged. My beautiful, delicious, fresh, young temptress bathed in red.
I hold her hand & I know my limitations. For this is as far as I go.
Blissful girl with braided locks destroys my heart & the whispers of the storm ride high & circle
I love her. But she does not know.

I want to taste her.

But she is now far away.

~ thoughts of the golden one turn to fate.
© ed simkins 2015

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Dreams or Desire

Flesh is alive, her burgeoning skin.

She smiles and waves, her dark moist hair,

Talent is simple, her looks allure,

Curtain of crimson, drunk to entice

Mincing in stilettos, hidden by the glass.

She stands in black, bride of her youth.

Her golden smile, a payment in kind,

The mirrors reflect each movement she makes,

Whore to the world, & giver to none.

Music blares out and the outside is closed.

Distress is a scheme given by the king,

Shaken and torn by the prostitution of love.

Perfect curves and fakery in eyes,

A stolen child with a broken lost past

No wonder the destination is fours on the floor.

Blood and sweat, tears and her lips,

All entwined in the flickering flash of a thought

A neon light, cold water and bath

Dreams of an angel scream in her angst

Forged identities shatter her past

Hidden in bedrooms, families forget,

Child in her twenties, allowed to neglect

Lolita in fantasy, rhythm shakes deep,

Man fills her full, hate waves convulse.

Her perfect tan opulent in lies,

A deceit screams out in her paid ecstasy

Outside by the church, god talks of sympathy

His flock walks by, a mitigated falsehood.

And the delusions begin, He sees HER face,

He runs to the woman, the child in her dress,

An angel in death who brings him relief.

He calls out her name and their kisses they play

He holds her so close & her body relaxed

She disappears in arms, a cloud of the past,

Present unformed, the future guaranteed,

She leaves & she smiles, a dreamer beyond,

I watch without words of content or of soul,

A mishmash of ideas whirl & they smoke

Chase the impossible or live with the evils that surround?

Kiss the untouchable who creates a smile, a girl who he loves?

Or hold onto empty moments in the arms of the dead?

Either leads to the grave…but which route to his death?

Insanity of the dead? Or the frustration of the living?

Choices we make, are no choices at all.

Just the capriciousness of God who stands there above all.

~ Beauty I saw, Beauty I met, Beauty I dreamt of, Beauty an illusion?

© Ed Simkins