Crimson whispers ride the wind
From lips which drip with honeyed sin,
To lure a poet, trap him in.
Silken words like spider's thread
Weave promises, desires unsaid,
A web about her poet's head.
Deep dark pools of night her eyes
They drown his reason, hypnotize,
He's trapped by truths and tortured lies.
Poet's pulse now beating fast
Seeks promised ecstasy at last,
Redemption's chance already past.
Each word she whispers reeks of sin
And burns with fires that lure him in,
Words stripped bare about him spin.
His power to resist too weak
Her sin-kissed lips the poet seeks,
Resting on forbidden peaks.
A few last whispers stain the air
About the sins committed there,
Poet trapped by honeyed snare.
Donovan Baldwin