• On Their Wedding Night

    Upon sapphire sheets, laced with golden threads,
    Damped by sweat, wrinkled and thrashed,
    From a forbidden dance,
    She made love.
    Under the full Persian moon of her wedding night,
    She lay on her back,
    With her knees above her luscious bosom,
    She moaned to every inch
    And twitched at every thrust.

    Her lover, her hero, her slave,
    Gripped his cushion with both hands, firmly.
    Pulling with pure breaths of passion,
    He sucked each breast, on each succulent n****e.
    Hands through dark blades of hair,
    Nails through skin, embedding her passion with deep red lines,
    Trailing her emotions across her lovers back.
    From pain to pleasure, from pleaser to bliss,
    She exploded internally with one last kiss.

    Across the dimly-lit, golden room
    He watched. Her King, her husband, her fool.
    Through silky veils of blue and red,
    Just a shadow, a silhouette
    With crimson eyes soaked by future blood,
    Glared and bared witness to his Queen, his whore
    Bent to another.
    With a face hard as stone and cold like steel,
    He ogled with hatred
    Till his breaking point
    At which he unsheathed his twisted dagger
    And charged forth like the beast he has come to be.

    His knife, his fang, his fist, his claw.
    Fueled by betrayal,
    He clinched her milky pale arm,
    Ripping her light gold armlet from its place
    And slide his blade from corner to corner.
    Across her supple neck,
    He watched her bleed like the virgin she once was
    Before dropping her limp, insipid body
    To the cold hard floor.
    “Khoda hafaz,” Is all he whispered.
    From, “I do” to “Goodbye”.