The poisonous black coils hiss
and entangled in fanged loops go for a kiss.
Two glossy-black slithery bodies
lost in the fearsome quagmire of poisoned passion
eat each other’s identity in some unheard fashion.
The venomous fangs,
Lay bare their monstrosity,
making the moments vicious, stealthy, dangerous.
The tongues of death
nastily sway to a mysterious song,
It is like brutal soldiers of death
marching on a bloody path endlessly long.
It is like death dancing:
Its poisoned lips heaving, pushing its mighty pout
against the innocent, pure face of mortality.
Pitted against the cataclysmic forces of death,
the lovely pink sheen on the pristine face prevails.
Its softest brace breaks the hardest stones.
The fierce aura suddenly bids time to stay still,
to extinguish its fire at the acme:
the pleasure-topped hill.
The love prevails,
The horrible storm loses its restless travails
in the hazily lit mellowness of ecstatic surrender:
Defanged, depoisoned.
They are now just two beautiful creatures.
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