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Under the wisteria, she lies, a gift willingly given

To her captor, she offers herself, for the taking

The angel walking into the devil’s lair

A jewelled flower among brimstone and fire

Lying in gentle repose atop rain damp grass, moisture sinking into her hair

The smell of petrichor still heavy in the violet air

Atop a bed of blossom and narcissus, she is arranged

A picture of the pinnacle of his temptations

Rose and nightshade petals garnish a sugar-spun gown

In fae fingers, a bouquet of mint and berries is delicately grasped

With the sweetness of blood detected under

Perfectly balanced to make his mouth water

Her gentle breaths beckon him closer; her neck open in surrender

Pulse fluttering under the surface, blood flowing like a river

Who would he be to refuse, the lips in fairy tale red?

The cheeks delicately blushed, awaiting his caress

An answering hitch, who is he to deny an angel her whims

With tender gentleness, he gathers her into his arms

A gentle smile she tries to hide, she still has a part to play

The helpless maiden stolen away, not one who goes willingly

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