masquerade in black
mystery packed as dynamite
tightly wound
upright
the ladykiller plays the shill
music dines as only wine
can send the chill of the thrill
up the spine of his latest meal
who bats eyelashes
caked with pretty zinc flake
and her cheesecloth dressing
like a sieve the killer believes
to sift through her decollatage
of mussed blonde wig and taped breast rig
years older than the rehauled chassis
champagne and cigars clink
glassy glass stares
masked with college tries and barely suppressed irony
dark and tan and bland
laughing but can barely stand
the musk of her aged tusks
viper quick, bends like a whip
and lifts her up
serenades her
with physical displays of youthful age
meanwhile counting the coins in her pocketbook
enough to take a look
at her dry dusty cave
the bats circling
feeding on the remains of a marriage of slaves
swallowing his disgust down his robust throat
he disrobes her of her coat
and salivates against her wall
admiring the rugs and the paintings
and the filigreed gold and velvet trimmings
while he rummages through her chest
and checks her fillings
she cums in seconds
he has time to play thoughts in his head
he will never say
a conquest of vices and disguises
alone they rise
catching a cab, the mystery man
like a slab of bacon mistaken for prime rib
in the light of dawn the old shrew spins
wondering if the sword she swallowed will ever call again...