Black Widow

An enchantress,
gowned in black and silky dress.
Their eyes mourn in night,
and hindering and accrue in scarlet;
crystals torn asunder by fearsome spite.
Mists and fogs pervert their curves,
fantasies alive, though tucked in tight.

Eight lady legs creeping,
snickering as midnight makes you sleepy.
Their fangs perish white,
sick humor glistening in a smile,
wicked and plastered upon butterfly face,
razorblade cunts with devilish guile.

Moonlit strands of silk,
pasty and unseen in Luna's lies,
and though you squirm, drowsy,
Luck has drawn ugly snake eyes.
Your promises are lousy,
while theirs read salacious and fine.

Crimson begins to pour,
slow and silent little rivers,
from your neck to the floor.
Black widow, black widow,
a spider with perplexing riddle.
Chalk white assassins painted black,
from the shadows you attack,
leaving nothing in your lethal track.