Exquisite treasure,

So fond of silk and ermine,

Stand up straight and let me admire,

Porcelain skin,

Blossom petal complexion.

Those insubstantial wisps

That you draped about in a mockery of attire,

Aroused in me

Dark desires,

Devised in the bowels of Hades,

Where compulsion,

Indiscriminate by design,

Beleaguered my soul,

As day after day I suffered

Your venom and spite,

Imperceptible to others, particularly your mother.

Oh! Suffer for my sins did I,

But, slowly, so slowly

With cunning and guile,

Those bastions of sanctity,

Once of ultimate importance and inviolability,

I pushed aside.

Now you are mine.

In a flight of fancy I once wondered,

Should I loose the shackles that keep you by my side?

Would that improve your disposition?

Tis not permissible.

For surely would you take flight,

And unable to satiate desire,

To part your thighs

To kiss your lips

To be buried inside,

This amiable fellow,

So needlessly reviled,

Would have to trap another for his pleasure.

Look at me women!

Downcast lashes do little to hide

Despondence, tears welling

In those green eyes.

Yet your cheeks remain dry,

Mayhaps even sorrow declines to reside,

Within what is left of your mind.

Had you acquiesced,

Born my child,

Your slender frame

No cause for me

To shake

From side to side.

Much less beat you till you bled.

So flinch not pretty thing

For fear of causing further ire,

Be but a shell, curl up small inside,

For I shall feast and do as I like.

You may survive,

But just in case you prove too fragile,

You really should consider,

How best to enjoy the vestiges of your life?