Open the window to the sea and it hits you.
Not just salt breeze will scale your walls tonight.
Your giddy bones telegraph your soft pink flesh.
Your breasts, your throat, are such a welcoming.
Who would have guessed Pandora's box would be a heart,
that the fallen fanged angels
would be kin to your own deep desire,
drawn by you as much as drawn to you.
There's nothing here you deign to stop.
Let him come, you tell the fluttering curtains.
The warnings crinkle up like garlic leaves.
Virgin blood is but a trinket to the jewels of sex.