Cold Comfort

Knife's cold comfort
calls.

It teases
like a tart
red lipped and smiling.
A flick of the hip
a swish
a dance
smooth skirt metallic tight
comfort there
an enticing wink.
A flash of hands.
Zip.
Rip.
In a moment she's sucking the life out of you.
You moan.
You gasp.
Waiting for a final shudder.
Release.
A sticky mess red
where her lips have been.

Judith Morgan