Under the wisteria, she lies, a gift willingly given
To her captor, she offers herself, for the taking
The angel walking into the devil’s lair
A jewelled flower among brimstone and fire
Lying in gentle repose atop rain damp grass, moisture sinking into her hair
The smell of petrichor still heavy in the violet air
Atop a bed of blossom and narcissus, she is arranged
A picture of the pinnacle of his temptations
Rose and nightshade petals garnish a sugar-spun gown
In fae fingers, a bouquet of mint and berries is delicately grasped
With the sweetness of blood detected under
Perfectly balanced to make his mouth water
Her gentle breaths beckon him closer; her neck open in surrender
Pulse fluttering under the surface, blood flowing like a river
Who would he be to refuse, the lips in fairy tale red?
The cheeks delicately blushed, awaiting his caress
An answering hitch, who is he to deny an angel her whims
With tender gentleness, he gathers her into his arms
A gentle smile she tries to hide, she still has a part to play
The helpless maiden stolen away, not one who goes willingly
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