The Curse

I will let you touch the stiff corpse on stoned bed

Desire, stare at the mystic elegance of her curves.


I will let you smell the curtains of her soul.

Spell bound by the scent as buried treasures of the earth.


You can look close, explore the darkness of iris.

Nailed at the innocence towards warmth and lust.


I will let you taste the damp waist reddened by sweet water.

Curl your lips against the riveting sacrament of slight breeze.


Let you own the wild boundaries of isolation,

Where the eager souls despair to unlock.


Tackle and ready, bare from an armor except the gland.

Idiosyncrasy, Courage, Inquisition—which one flames your heart?


Hurdle on her weight, rip the old wound that had been.

Erogenous mind teased and summoned. Hush, leave not any doubt.


When her eyes rest in tears awakened, and the fire lifts your ecstatic will.

The gates will open to a descending half winged angel.


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Abby Mabb

Snarly female. Occasional book reviewer.

Espen Stenersrød- From Pen To Heart

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