Hurricane Marti

By the light of covetous Bourbon Street gaslamps,
I am king of the damned and daring.
My sacramental latex wench bows before me,
Eyes afloat in libidinous libations
That glow in invitation
To swing and rise upon shooting stars of sweat
That traverse her cosmos of flesh.
These regal raiments of
Torn fishnet stockings
Compliment the coarseness
Of skin that has known her kind of love before.
Ensnared in her smoked glass claws,
I am damned behind my mask.
I am daring within her steel-pierced heat.
I am the skin of nightmares
That prowl the French Quarter
In black stiletto battleflags
Raised like virgin ass, like warcries.
Once upon a time, I had a soul of gold
Or something like one.
It itched so I scratched it naked and hard
With bucking hips
And ferocious visitations with passionless strips of wailing meat.
But zydeco regrets are all the wealth
The ageless may possess,
Agree Starlight and Moonshine,
Wearing colored bead halos.
So they whisper that I am the assassin of virtue,
And my cursed saint sheds tears of everclear,
Martyrs her knees, and swallows my pride,
Sucking aging joy from a shell.

Enjoy the masterful erotica of this stunning writer? Savour more by heading to the online home of Dark Erotic Author Anthony Beal

Also, be sure to check out his latest publications, "Thicker Than Water" in Darkened Horizons, Volume #5 (July 29) and "A Stretching Exercise" in Yellow Mama, Volume #9 (August 15)

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