Oranges

Neon fingers touching black canvas,
against gods eyes, swirling about
the sun,
falling like snow, resting upon,
her pale skin, shining like
a sliver of the moon,
On the snowy meadow,
the ice melts beneath her tiny feet,
crunching along two by two,
while the beast lies in wait,
baring yellow fangs, fire
in the belly, drawn by her
scent, and cut into his mind,
like a chisel, Venus in the
moonlight,
snatched up at the final moment,
taken away to the ancient
mountains, as a white queen to
a bloody king,
drinking cups of crimson desire,
till the spring comes,
and rosy dawn bares her breast
to the bleary-eyed masses
once again.
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