The whisper-swift flick of her words disturb me.
I am that which she wants, desires and craves.
Begs me so subtly and so sweet--
To be the thing, the gift, the pleasure
that should lie there at her feet.
But though I hear her tempting,
Salacious little cries,
I cannot help but wonder--
How many men have died?
Will I be there at the turning,
Glorious new day?
Or will she tempt me, tease me
Spirit me away?
She blinks, "A sip. A tiny sip!
Is all you need but take!
It makes you more than virile--
It makes you start to ache.."
Her hands so supple, long and deft,
They soon had left me quaking..
An aching I could not refuse--
Demanded it most dearly.
I needed no sweet sip from her,
She had me--hers as nearly.
The rest they danced and laughed and watched
As round and round I spun.
I was some little spinning top,
In this game she had begun.
Begun and finished. Neatly in her web, was I,
My confidence diminished.
Her claws, her coils, tightened round,
And stole from me small pieces.
Of things I never knew before,
Would give me sweet releases...
And bled and bled, my heart for her,
A piece she stole completely.
She ate it down, her solemn vow,
that bound me to her neatly.
My blood it ran upon her chin,
And ran down further still.
I lay there looking up at her,
My blood watering her Hill.
With bleeding slowed, I turned my head,
And saw her creatures dim.
They skipped and ran and blew away,
Light as a down in wind.
The sun it rose, and passed the crest,
Above the faerie hill.
And with that dawn, that creature, She
Had nearly had her fill.
My sight it dimmed, then brightened when
She touched me, once more, quickly.
My pleasure was to be my end,
An end I rose to thickly.
And from my last and final gasp
I felt her-- She returned me.
Brought me back from death's dark edge,
To show how she would spurn me.
I knew and felt a thousand thorns,
Despair it was within.
Caught was I, and chained to be,
Her creature bound in sin.
For though the dawn had come and shed
The shadows 'fore its light.
There was none as could release me,
As one faerie had that night.
Inspired by "Cask of Amontillado" by Cliff Dahlberg, another HP poet.