A Ravenous Rond de Jambe

 

Our collective conscious sweetly plagued in agreement,

Her resolve at style over fleeting fatality,

Pleasant in the thoughts of which,

For now, the hunt commences,

A body torn asunder,

By one’s own hand,

A true Volta.

 

Now we attend to that which matters to the twin entity most,

The target to be laid low within the sanctity of his own surroundings,

An alpha predator in his own sovereign swan like wilderness,

To be brought to cavorting mortality at the whimsical hands of violent grace.

 

Now we move in separation as one animation of bloody intent,

A target marked upon his stage unrequited passions,

As if the would-be hunter awaited our call met,

A potent concoction of my own composition,

Soon to be administered during interlude,

We await his sole rendition.

 

Alone at last he begins his solitary turn,

Unaware of my concealed presence,

All it takes is a poisoned prick,

My angel dust purveying my spurn.

 

 

Now open suggestion his final dance,

For the Valkyrie approaches,

Testing his elasticity,

Stuck in the trance.

 

Now he contorts,

Now he suffers,

Now death comes.