I sat on her fragrant lap.
Her body rocked mine back and forth.
She held me tight.
Her hands on my legs.
Tapping my legs and I rocked with her.
She was humming, biting her tongue, pouting.
Thinking about him and her.
Her humming tones deepened, travelled further away.
The rocking chair squeaked.
The rhythm of her voice interrupted itself.
Picked itself back up, her eyes wandered off into a stale expression.
Something rotten had infested her mind, had taken hold.
I felt her tall body tense up.
I felt it gone, vanquished, challenged and distorted.
And I looked at my nude legs and gasped.
Her feminine nails had shoved their brutal way into my flesh.
And she held me tight.
I didn’t dare to turn around and see her face, look into her eyes.
She slowly scratched down my legs and I silenced the pain.
The rocking had stopped, we both cried on the inside, and I
Just heard the clenching of her teeth and the delirious agony in her heart.
“A Spring Beauty” by Vittorio Matteo Corcos (1859-1933)