Friday, July 04, 2008

Sarin’s Lust

Category: Issue 11

One would not expect
Sarin to be a deadly word.
Not like venom or toxin,
words with wickedness of their own—
with poisoned vowels,
consonants of murderous intent.
Sarin is no such word.
It whispers off the tongue
like the name of an old lover,
a name moaned within midnight dreams,
sighed with eyes of nostalgia.

But Sarin is a deadly word:
soldiers flee her name,
hissed by cold steel canisters,
they claw the walls
to escape the sweet succubus.
She steals towards them—
caresses their skin—
muscles knotting beneath her touch,
breath stolen with a kiss.
The men collapse
as she mounts them,
engulfs their screams until they resemble
carnal gasps of her name.
Bodies writhing with ecstasy
as she consumes them,
leaving nothing more than husks—
remnants of Sarin’s lust.