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The Love of a Succubus

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For other uses of the word Succubus, see Succubus (disambiguation).


This poem was discovered on a random Google search.


Overview


The Poem

The Love of a Succubus


The unholy way
that her impish hair strand
feathered my nipple
sequestered my prodigal
heart.
For only demon eyes
can glean through the darkness
with such tricky clarity
as to rend skin apart
like so much Christmas wrap
in the hands of a child
and gut my fish belly,
placing my immortal soul in
escrow.
This domain is a perfect hell,
where breathy vows
will never see the light.
Where vampires have soft necks,
dimpled spine arches,
and that cavalier lower flesh
that denim craves to cling to.
Here, the soft stifling pressure
of her archangel's breasts
impale my Jesus side
and I choke pitch black air
at the jasmine scent of her
netherwordly fruit.
She is my pit fiend Madonna,
no other woman has ever
looked as classical
giving head.
This hellcat purrs restlessly
in my weakling's arms
to my sublime content,
until the vulcanized flesh
is torn asunder by the
reprisals of dawn,
and as her brimstone tears
wash away the last pebbles
of my manhood
I understand
lovesongs.
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