Demonic gold eyes
Search for me and
We stare each other down.
Finally I offer my finger:
It is rasp-licked.
She rubs her head against my hand
And serenades me
With a throaty mewling.
The masseuse in me
Massages her ears
And she outstretches
A full three to four feet
And yawns,
And combs the bristled growth
Concealing her assassin's mouth.
Leisurly she rises and brushes
against my triusered leg,
Speaking to me,
Purring,
And creating a perfect parabola
As reward for my affection.