The Haunted Traveler December 2017 Edition

11
Angela
I love Angela,
so I must also embrace her demons.
I’m so passionate about her,
my fervor extends to her inner succubus.
And I am willing to risk humiliation
for the touch of the siren’s thighs,
the seductress’s soft translucent breasts,
the fire of her lips and tongue.
But I cannot bring up the subject
of the Grand Inquisitor,
or name the infernal one within her,
or guess at her true given name.
For the privilege of peering in
the eyes that turn full cycle in their sockets,
I tilt my throat toward her mouth,
allow her access to the nectar of my being.
To be such a willing victim of her sorcery,
the sacrifices seem so small.
Why shouldn’t she syphon my soul
if that’s the price of being in her company?
I show off Angela to friends and family,
as if she is a precious jewel.
Little do they know that I am the jewel,
that she is the one does the displaying.
And, though I have more than once said
I would willingly die for her,
she prefers me as a living partner,
perhaps as mask, as go-between,
or, could it be, she really does have feelings for me.
I love her with barely a hint to what she truly is.
Could she not love me
for knowing more than anyone should know?
—John Grey