by Ben Szwediuk
Beneath the bed,
in the best traditions of ghouls,
Artress, bastard child of Osiris,
lurks panther hunched,
bedecked with silent,devilish grin.
Drawn quick and driven feverish
by dark sweat of human loneliness.
He pounces as lights are dimmed,
razor teeth in glimmered moonlight.
He coils lover tight ‘round unprotesting vessels.
As they acquiesce to grief, the demon feasts.