When darkness settles in my room
And shadows twist beneath the black,
That's when I know my succubus
Will soon be perched upon my lap.

Her fingertips are cold like death,
Her scaly arms are knotted wreaths.
She taps impatiently upon my chest,
My heart pumps faster just beneath.

She entices and repulses,
As I'm frozen in brief joy;
And only when I'm fully spent,
She turns to look me in the eye.

Her empty stare, two icy caves;
A distant pain I cannot fathom.
I want to hold her in my arms -
For is she nothing but a phantom?

Perhaps she's just a metaphor,
Of secret wicked lust?
All creatures of repressed desire,
Find a darkness they can trust.