A Wicked Temptation: Sestina

Inside, light and luxury are scant,

And if you aren’t careful, you could trip

And slip on steamy skin.

In the deep dimness each touch

Is a shock, each gaze scathes.

Their life’s work is to tempt.

And they work well to tempt

In their Gaussian lace and wire, scant

Of substance, ethereal touches that scathe.

Their lashes flutter, lips make you trip

And you are sent reeling as they beg, ‘touch’

While they splay before you their silken skin.

And oh how you moan at the feel as your skin

Slides lushly against yours, the tempt-

ation too much, all you can do is touch

And rip at lace, your will is scant

As sensation consumes you’re off on a trip

To the surface of the sun, blood heated to scathe.

They claw and cry, the sound is scathe-

ing. Your joy is purely skin

Deep, and your heartbeat skips, trips.

As your body is heaving, you at-tempt

To conceive, though chances are scant,

You’re too rubbery to get to that touch.

And in that instance you hate their touch,

And the fevered touches, so sweet now scathe

To make skin crawl, desire scant

You loosen, sweat-damp, chilled skin,

And though they try to rouse, they fail to tempt

You to make a return, or even finish your trip.

Yes this has been in vain, your veins trip-

ping up in flow, sickened now by touch,

You scream, a wicked desire, tempt-

ation to slice, strangle, scathe,

To tear at their milky, silky skin

Your control is too scant.

And as scant as the lace, so thin is your will, you embark on a trip,

A departure from cheap thrills, skin breaks to bleed beneath a steely touch,

And your words over them, shaking, scathe.  You went, but knew it was too tempting.