The sharp thistles are hidden amongst the petals.
But her tender, bare soles touch only the flowers.
For she has surpassed such human frailty.
Her beauty is angelic but her soul, black as pitch.
She spies her willing yet unsuspecting host.
She clothes her nakedness in his rich desire.
His wish to please her is matched only by his need to possess her.
His strength vanishes as his lust grows.
When she has her fill, his tasteless remains are tossed to her howling canine.
-Johnny V.
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