Storyteller

Tell me a story into my ear

Ever so, very so, tenderly quietly

So that none of the passers beside us can hear

A tale of familial loss of propriety

Or maybe, this time, a tale about skin

Some with a glacial, pale, crystal whiteness

Some that is so dark that light can’t get in

It contrasts so sweetly right next to the brightness

Or perhaps you will tell of a pink butterfly

And a glittery serpent that seeks only to hide

Your stories, they play on my mind’s inner eye
And carry us both on a crazy joyride

So I wait for the next installment to come

Buoyed by the waves of my own appetite

For your fairytales, darkly and stickily spun

In feverish whispers under cover of night