Member Poem

 
 
CURSE OF THE WEREWOLF'S WIFE
 
By the time the moon
is replete and brimming
and his transformation
is complete, she has
prepared herself accordingly
with liner and with shadow,
a touch of rouge upon each cheek,
the barest gown to accentuate
her vulnerability beneath.
 
This time she spends
before her mirrors is used
to bait his awful needs,
to sate his raging appetite
and hold him safe within
her arms while others
of his fated breed
are driven forth by hunger
to roam the night town streets.
 
Each time the madness
in his eyes is captured
by her artistry, she endures
a dreadful ritual of rape,
she tastes his lupine breath,
she knows that now familiar
scent so animal and sweet,
the heavy musk that fills
the air to saturate her dreams.
 
By the time they awaken
he will be a man once more,
who remembers not a moment
of his brief and brutish spree,
who will glance in stray amazement
at the bruises on her flesh,
the blood upon the sheets,
as he begs her for forgiveness
in a voice which makes her weep.
 
But time will prove her enemy
in spite of all he's said,
the constant cycles of the moon
will turn upon her once again,
and when her slender limbs
have begun to lose their grace,
and when her beauty flees,
what spell will tame this beast
who nightly shares her bed?
 
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First appeared in Weird Tales