Silk and Witchcraft
A nectar of hypnosis dripped from her eyes and everywhere else,
I was her prey the moment she saw me notice her skin shine in the dancing lights.
She was like, a thousand silk worms had crawled up her bones to make all that flesh; unearthly smooth.
I was only but a thunderstruck brain reacting to a cosmos of neurochemicals that rushed inside of me at the sight of her.
A static of uncontrollable existence, the black of which deepened everytime her eyeballs met mine in the irrelevant crowd.
She had spells carved on her neck, the art of which only tasteful men understand.
Cotton sprung from below her high tied bun and the tickle was felt on my shoulder.
She was only looking at me but somehow I felt her all over.
I had not heard her voice, but I could listen to her whisper in my ear, followed by loud panting.
Her sweat had turned into bourbon that slithered down my spine as I sipped it.
And lips that would only seem to want my blood on them.
Every inch of me quivered as this absolute sculpture of lure played its games on me and pushed me into a pool of crave.
I was drunk to her venom, thought her arms are my grave.
Her strings were on me, like I was some unstable daft.
Even to imagine her kiss and spoil me, felt like witchcraft.
words by – Deven
artwork by – @EroticWaterColor