Black Ice

This was originally published in print last October, in Sephyrus Press' Afterlife Anthology.

She lifts

the hem of her slip

like black ice,

soft-eyed residence

of slick demise,

blackest eyes

entreating,

black black pupils beating,

eating into resistance;

entrancing,

enchanting,

holding up

the gates of some strange paradise

with a pistol in each hand.

 

Mythic creature of vengeance,

she,

guardian of the portal

to some bleak

afterlife: a moment,

a moment of pleasure

passing;

a breath of air,

a taste of all  that is holy.

 

And she

lifts the hem of her

slip like black

ice.

Reviews

[NoneOfYourBusiness akaK..]

ink in frost~your imagery is alive~ it moves and beckons~ the rhythmic cadence is one I utilize often myself~ it works perfectly here to lure and then out of nowhere toss the reader back on the wavelets of creative composition from beginning to end~

[HB]

Interesting. This takes me in so many directions. I can't tell if she's fore or against the demise of her lover(s). Fantastic imagery, love the bookend. And of course, what am I thinking? "Congeal, Madam! Congeal!"