Succubus, 4 A.M.

Daughter of pain, child of the hole
that has no bottom, she comes into the room
fresh from the maggot stew of long damnation
to steal the mystic breath in foul embrace
no man resists. Her hair is red and long,
her breasts they droop, her lips are full, her tongue
travels the lusty contour of a promise
divinely wrong. Her hips are full and wide.
The space between her legs is warm, slick, wet
with the stink of slime that sends good men to hell,
demolishing aspiration.

                      - March 8, 2013