My Muse has fangs. She is stalking me, on stocking feet. Tippy toes, claws out. Blood drips in the corners of her red red mouth. I am spinning. Twirling like a six year old on a sugar fix. Hungry for the tangy taste of her mouth on my own. Her skin is cold. Her breath is fire. Her attention, is devine inspiration. I am infatuated. I am seduced. I am right where I want to be. |
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