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Drawn into a black-star void--
Finds a darkness breathing,
In slow, steady slumber,
With promises of poisoned waters
That slake unholy thirsts.

				In a labyrinth of decay and dark delights,
				To suit a Minotaur's predations,
				She writhes in somnolent ecstasy--
				That she will waken when he falls upon her.

But to wake her? Ah, yes! Wake her,
That she might trace kisses of destruction
Along your throat--whisper secrets
Of hellfire pleasures that merely await

				And so he hunts, thinking to find
				Yet another of the virgins meant
				To feed his inhuman appitites, heedless
				That it is a demon whose sweet flesh
				Cries an ending to his tumescent hunger.

So generous she is with the poisons
Of her body--the bread and wine
That fill and quench, yet leave you
Always wanting more and more
Of her.

				She stirs, and his eyes fall upon the swell
				Of a tender breast bared
				In mocking, lying vulnerability--
				Never seeing how blurred has become
				The line between predator and prey.

But to wake her--Ah! To wake Lilith
From her death-night dreaming,
Inviting her cold, blood blackened lips
To sip bitter nectar
From the chalice of your soul.

				Better, then, perhaps to leave her
				Where she lies in black-star darkness,
				And dreams of drinking the last
				Faltering, tormented light
				From your eyes

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