NaPoWriMo- 4 Femme Fatale


NaPoWriMo – 4

Femme Fatale

Unease all around
conversation dies abruptly
The dress trails the floor
its slit travels upward with increasing velocity
and stops at the brink of insanity
A slight movement reveals a shapely leg
with red tipped toes in black heels

He turns around last- he knows her moves
Old wounds throb with a familiar ferocity

She isn’t a lass
or a flower, angel or goddess
refusing petty pedestals to take the place of desire
vetoing to give in to the inevitable
to make a home wherever hurled

and that makes her a fantasy
A free breeze, a gift without ribbons
Alluring fragrance, deadly venom, deathless muse
A killing combination

He turned
The dress-train morphed into a long snake
She moved swiftly towards his thoughts
donning their shape, their undulations, their temperature
choosing her moves with a practiced sway
Her tongue teasing, flicking, daring him
Coiling, uncoiling, soothing his latent welts
before bestowing them with immortality

There is no more to it
or to him
or her
One can always conjure up beautiful ways to write
or to die

©Reena Prasad

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