Editor's ChoiceMusingsPoetry

Josephine

His thighs are craddled between hers,
His breath hot on her neck.
She’s arching towards him,
Her fingers leaving trails on his forearms.

He’s teasing her pulse with his lips,
The one on her neck, and not below.
Her thighs quiver from the force of his thrust.
He’s twinning her hair around his fist,
Using it to expose more of her delectable neck.

She shudders.
The ectasy too much for her to bear.
An inferno’s building up inside her,
Threatening to destroy everything in its wake
She can feel herself taking deep breathes.
For what? She doesn’t know.

She’s getting overwhelmed with this blinding feel,
But doesn’t know how to come down from her high.
Her eyes are closed tight, she can’t look at him
Not when she has come undone
He hefts her up a little and in just two thrusts
They are accepting the pleasure that has been awaiting them with open arms.

She opens her eyes slowly,
about to thank her lover for a round well satisfied
But she’s met with the tip of a blade at her neck.
Her eyes flash to his.
He smirks, right before she feels the blade pull against her skin.
Her skin was always so soft,
but she never expected it to be this soft that it’ll open up immediately.
Her hands close tightly around her throat,
fisting it as she makes a mad dash around him.

She’s not fast enough though,
because his hand swings out and her innards now decorate the floor.
She’s falling.
Falling fast. She always expected death to come slowly.
But it’s licking through her being like a horny beast.
Her hands have now moved to the floor,
and it looks like she’s about to pack her entrails back into her body.

He smashes her head on the floor and she passes out.
His shirt has become a wipe now.
The blade is on the floor, next to her graying body.
He looks over to the window and nods at me.
Then walks out.

I stride purposefully into the room,
It still has her scent
I can see her clearly now.
Her hair spread out like a halo around her,
Her skin not quite gray or blue yet.
I guess it’s because her spilt blood is warming her from the outside.
My hands are on her cheek,
My knife in my hand.

I might not have been able to kill her myself,
but I will surely brand her before she’s sent to Hell.

This is to teach her that you don’t touch what’s mine.
First my husband, and now my baby boy.
Harlots don’t deserve to live long on this earth.
And I made sure that her departure was entertaining.

I’m carving the letter A into her soft cheek.
They’ll know once
But I’ll be far gone.
And any way, who would believe a sixty year old woman touched a corpse.

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