[Day 24 of the 31 Days of Poetry]
Pain descends on demons' dark wings,
soft and silent save for a faint ripple in the air.
It alights on the shoulders with an embrace;
enveloping the body like a warm winter cloak.
There is no attempt to shrug it off; this is the
touch of an old lover, and they greet one another
with the familiar intimacy that only those who have
shared union can know. The ritual of seduction,
seemingly grotesque, is actually a comfort; a moment
of calm and clarity before the night that is to come.
This is not a coupling the quarry would choose,
and in a few hours there will be impassioned imprecations
and beseeching bargaining for the cessation of ravishment,
all to no avail. Pain takes what it wants, when it wants,
as much as it wants, and there is no safe word that
beats back the shadows' sting. This is their world:
there is no reality but the two of them, together,
and the gasping hunger that must be satisfied.
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