Incubus. 18" x 22". graphite, conte, charcoal on paper. (Drwg # 30).

I sometimes have my doubts

that when she smiles

she smiles for me

or for some wild entity who

with sweeter voice and lust

invades her innocence with thrusting flesh.

Fallen from grace and wingless he comes

trailing backyard garbage in the tomcat night,

clawing at her curtained window,

thrusting his white face against the glass,

howling his terrible song.

Trembling, she invites him in.

Thrilled yet terrified she lays

naked in the humming dark

prostrate on crumpled sheets,

eyes closed tight, anticipating

the touch that opens,

the whispered breath,

the knocking clock,

the cold, dark wind.

The night has teeth that bite

and tongues caressing skin,

lapping dreams as cats ingesting milk.

Flickering shadows

cloak the cries of invaded sleep

hallucinating seeds of ecstasy.

The moon explodes

sighing through dark clouds.

Bound by whispers

and gripped by lunar hands

she twists and turns

in his cold embrace.

Wanting and naked

she opens and closes.

His presence is everywhere.

His embrace, like sucking quicksand

absorbs her beauty.

She runs in her dream

but her running is slow

and wherever she goes

he is always there,

inside her, around her,

and the morning is too far away.

Incubus. 18″ x 22″. graphite, conte, charcoal on paper.

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