'The Sand Woman' Poem by Linda Winchell

A woman sleeps atop a hill of sand
Each grain of her own lustful sins making.
She’s given more of herself to them
Who are just ripe for her desires taking.

She spreads her pink butterfly wings
Open wide to all that she inspires.
Pulling them deep inside her web
To burn in her hellish of lustful fires.

She takes you to the top of her sandy hill
And then back down again.
She licks your wounds with sand paper of tongue
And leaves you to rot until your end.

She’s not asleep as you are led to think
But lying in wait to snatch.
You’re not going to be her first to die
And you’re surly not going to be her last!