Forget roses, come to the dark side. Check out this wicked post by the fabulously talented Nthato.
February 14, 1847
Squalid streets buzzed with soot stained faces,
Bedraggled coats pulled against winter paces.
Dim lampposts illuminate shadowed vagrants,
Unwashed skin, waste, stagnant water – the fragrance.
Dazzling amber light washes over lonely streets.
Many, this night, have succumbed to their sheets.
Sleek carriage clops smoothly towards a juncture,
Where I shall meet him. The Vulture.
Damsel in distress approaches in glistening carriage.
I wait in shadow so none see this unholy marriage.
At the juncture I dart into carriage quickly,
She cringes at my sight, I merely smile thickly.
The Vulture nauseates, not only from stench.
Scarred face hidden behind long dark trench.
Sinister grin of missing teeth is bared,
Within his presence I am truly snared.
The warmth of carriage thaws prickling fingers.
Freesia scent drifts about like Lolly’s singers,
Yet this is a woman of class, so I present a souvenir
It is packaged carelessly, slick and dripping…
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