He lay coughing up
some convoluted construct
of love,

lying about his intent,
investing in
the color of her skin,
the way she would bend
and moan for him,
confessing
her deepest secret
desires on a whim.

She caved
and gave in,
succumbing
to the enslaving
of her will,

believing in
the images he created
to make her naked
in flesh and thought.

She was his  
next great victim.

He was a chameleon,
sweet to violent
in several seconds,

changing her tint
from warm to bruised
then severely crimson
and finally when
the breath of flesh
started failing,

she became porcelain,

and he carried on exploiting
all that was beautiful
for his own profit.