When the moon stands over the pines,
And the waters are hidden by fog,
Comes the cry of the witch's child,
And the devil will rise from the bog...
...unknown author...

She came to him,
His lust rose in his pants,
Clothes torn off,
Him hard, her wet,
She fell onto the bed,
Him on top, her begging,
Both screaming in ecstasy…

The heat unbearable,
The pines held the heat,
Humidity like the ocean,
Not even a wisp of wind,
The bed creaked under their motion…

A devilish howl from deep in the pines,
Hiding under the house the dog did whine,
Fearful of the creature living in the mines,
Killing for sustenance its only crimes…

Fear struck all but the two,
They in their passion had no clue,
Found attached to each other,
Their bodies ravaged, blood,
Still the humidity hung like a flood…
© -me- 4/17/15