Deep in the forest of her luscious dreams
she wakes as morning creeps in from the east,
silk-painted webs suspended from the beams
beneath her breasts the waking of the beast.
To all who've gone before she thumbs her nose,
her timid mother, clothed in deathbed black
she offered him a pink, forbidden rose
defying them, and always looking back.
She'd known about Lot's wife of course, and God
who'd fiddled with an angel, she was sure
he froze her in the manner of jihad
his image thus remaining clean and pure.
She happily played doctor as a child,
the lure of secret places and raw flesh
did drive the bold and budding youngster wild,
entangling her inside a sticky mesh.
They labeled her as loose and even cheap,
stern mothers warned their boys to stay away,
folks warned that there was pestilence to reap
and heavy were the urges to be gay.
She left a mighty trail of pheromones,
the piper would be shamed by the huge crowd,
her preference was stamina, not moans
though she herself was panther-like and loud.
She died the day that man went to the moon,
no friends no next of kin and no to-do,
hands folded clutching one big silver spoon
her lips had turned a cyanotic blue.
incredible.