Semi-Random Reflections

Writhing, howling succubus trapped in man flesh,
paint your icon over your hell, my dull face.
Such euphoric portraits negate despair's brawn.
Choke us in rapture.

Let your angel watch as we dance around threats.
When her feather brushes your shrouded horn tip,
frantic, fevered arias press our rash needs  
over my cautions. 

You can love her, knowing she'll quit this town soon.
Any rising streams can recede before waves
drop electric eels in our rusty nail bed.
Dullness prevails, then.