Kiss O’Death

Her eyes were
Cold and dead – behind her smile
Hid her intentions

While her curves
Drew him – his fate was sealed by
Her sweetest kiss

Within her arms
All he found was a living death His
Essence drained

Each time they
Made love he grew older while she
Grew younger

What Shall I Do?

Two little angels sitting on my shoulders.

The one on the right wears a broken halo.

The one on the left sports a pair of horns, a pointed tail and caries a pitch fork.

“Make love to her.” whispers the angel on the right.

“Throw her in quicksand!” demands the one on the left.

Now what shall I do?


Maybe I’ll do both.