The Sultana 6. Thrall

The Negress scrutinized the massive bulge in his trousers

with a savage mixture of reproach and jealousy.

Her face was a mask of pain, which made her seemed purple to him.

Just grimacing row of crocodile teeth, a hippo's nose, condemned features.

Her wounded groan bore the familiar, low tone of his race,

Her wet popping eyes reminded him of his mother in chains.

But his thoughts are with the gory face he fished from the tiles,

Which he regarded like an answered prayer, this slaughtered woman,

With drunk insane limbs that sizzled on a pool of spattered figs,

Its blood mingled in pulpy unison, its legs drenched with their undead seeds.

A plaything for better men, a body undreamt of,

That once treaded the jeweled harem with a tigress's stride.

The palace drank her blood,

The bowflies relieved on her rotting thighs,

Still...this white heavenly shape played on his mind.

He answered the wounded Negress,

His answer streaked down, with a sharp color of pearl raced down his weakened legs

A heartbeat before her frail tears dashed on the proud carcass.

originally posted on ~ 7/22/14