Rosemary’s Lure Quartet

Rosemary’s Roe

Part II: Lure-to-Trap
Rosemary’s Roe
Rosemary, Rosemary, so cruel and contrary,
How my garden twists fate in its snare.
With furrows so rich, they say I’m a witch,
I catch the Sun in a serpentine glare.

My thighs gleam with sweat, a hot, silky threat,
I bend to the vines, hips swaying like sin,
My web vibrates slow; it hums soft and low,
When my breasts spill free, they’re a taunt you can’t flee,
A harvest of flesh where your ruin begins.

Taste my sweet roe, I hiss soft and low,
Tongue deep, dear fool, the prize from my girl.
My venom draws near; heightens your fear,
My lips red and hot, I offer my lot,
My river of juice, slick venom, unfurled.

Tomorrow, I’ll strip, bare bosom and hip,
Skin glinting like blades by dawn’s cruel light,
You’ll crawl through my rows, lust choking your throes,
A slave to the heat of my widow’s delight.

My waist is tight; a predator with delight,
My legs squeeze, you dead in dirt’s eager bed,
I’ll grant you no plea, but my nakedness for thee,
One sip of my bloom; you’re mine, now you’re dead.
© Noisy Wren ’17

Widow’s Bloom
Sweet Rosemary writhes, her body a blade; petite breasts beckon soft; the trap is laid;
Her thighs crush your will in her dark promenade; she reaps with a kiss, and your soul is decayed.

Her eyes, eerie coals in the flickering light; deep shadows, her blanket, she savors your plight;
Her fingers, like vines, coil cruelly tight; widow’s Feast, love turns, your endless night.