Her heart was like a rattlesnake, quick to lash out
And Deadly, to the unsuspecting fools drawn in by the music of her laughter,
As high and clear as a Tibetan prayer bowl
How were they to know that beauty’s heart was its own beast, filthy and ravenous, pacing inside its ribbed cage, living in unsanitary conditions, fed but scraps to keep it weak and tolerant of mating in captivity.
Some days it raged, howling into the night with every beat.
Others it despaired, curling up into a darkened corner of her chest, heaving there silently.
Both jailer and guardian, she vacillated between giving it the space to run, full tilt, rolling in earth and bathing in moonlight, diving in to the sheer and pungent joy of being a free and wild thing
and binding its frenetic beat and passion for violence with all manner of restraints,a kind of living death, in which the only form of resistance was to crash about its cage chaotically, interrupting the breath.
Between the heaving and the howling, she paints a flawlessly face,her breath quickening as the beast beneath her breast feels a stirring rememberance of prowling for its prey, the stalk, the chase, the kill.
She applies the crimson red tube to her lips and both recall with satisfaction the salty taste of blood.