vamp

Seducing spring-starved
to a pagan breakfast
of fertile eggs-over-easy
and fresh-squeezed green,

she pants to repopulate,
as tender winter-lips
are somewhat bruised
in a stampede of kisses.

Coaxed to a feverish pitch
of rose hips and nakedness,
only to her early exit, hobbling
out, a one-legged mother,

cane raised in thunder-pout,
conjuring fickle winds
without orgasm, and spits,
sycophant, in your eye.


Tess Kincaid
April 2011