20

Oh flesh soft and tender
white as a winter's offering,
cold as the snow that hardens the Earth's crust
auburn strands twist, beaded with silver
frames a face so fair, lips paled by Frost's kiss.
Head adorned with a crown of thorns and curling petals,
eyes spill innocence, stone grey but sparkling
a blackened tear leaks..

Strength in those features, alight in the flame's warm glow
but still the curvature of the cheeks, the body
handle with care.
The dress that clings, a heavy heart beat drumming through
breath catches with fear, her chest hovers
cotton wrinkles around her thighs, brushes her soft arms
her raised skin tingling with the cool night breeze,
you burn to touch her.

But you must not be fooled!
The mouth too wide hides teeth newly constructed
to tear the flesh from the bone,
to sap life, to squander it in an instant.
She will beckon you and you will chance it
and when fresh blood trickles down her porcelain skin,
you will become the unsuspecting lover
the first skull on the pile.

© Florence Challender 2009