Rosemary’s Lure Quartet

Rosemary’s Venom

Part III: Trap
Rosemary’s Venom
Rosemary, Rosemary, vile and contrary,
How does your garden choke life in its grip?
I rake through the mire, setting shadows afire,
My body, your noose, with hips like a swaying eclipse.

My thighs slick with musk, a venomous husk,
I loom in your face, breasts thrust to defy,
My web grips your throat, day turns to dusk,
My nipples like thorns, my scorn reborn,
My gaze chokes your pitiful cry.

Take out your hoe,” I snarl, voice low,
Plow my dark earth; your hot blood set free.
My lips smear your doom, wet with perfume,
I grind against you—my lust wild and free.

No dawn will save you; I’m a flesh-craved grave,
Skin bare and brazen, a taut, wicked snare,
My venom takes hold, slow and bold,
My belly’s a blade, my sex a cascade,
I’ll straddle your soul ‘till you gasp in despair.

With my ass arched to kill, I bend at my will,
My legs lock you down in my reeking decay,
You’ll beg for my bite one merciless night—
I’m the Widow from whom you can't stray.
© Noisy Wren ’19

Prose: Widow's Claim
Rosemary whispers, "Come tend my bed,” her sundress flutters, her trap softly spread.
You hoe her furrow, your heart breaks instead, her harvest is you, her thorns drip blood red.