Devil Kisses

devil

Born of the devil’s kiss, an aching in her soul

her skin not clear but exquisitely marked

For the devil liked her very much – did he

Showering her, blanketing her from head to toe with hot, desiring kisses

The kiss of life, the kiss of death

Leaving small, charcoal evidences behind wherever he touched

like tiny bruises that went deeper than they appeared

for they looked like shallow things, only they were much more profound

sinking down to her very being

And when as a child she wondered very much on the origin of the symbols

and the implications

well then her grandmother told her, “Those are devil kisses – he must like you very much!”

So she lay in her bed at night, just a little sweaty and fearful; imagining:

would the devil himself show up; and did he love her?

Later, through times of strife, she wished he would show up

to explain a few things

Then again, maybe he did.

In the form of a cruel lover; revealing to her things like deceit, jealousy and revenge!

Ah, but those are merely earthly things, she thinks…

since she knows the devil must have more important occupations to fill his time.

And every now and then she can feel the scorching from deep within,

the mark – an indicator and sign

of something so much more

and be it evil or benign

it is there all the same

as she looks out upon the world with a burning gaze:

Beauty without; the devil within.

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