by Kristin Garth
By day, a saint hides fangs and claws. A face
cherubic bends or breaks no laws. You drop
the civility for me — public grace,
polite humility. Rural chateau,
all fast asleep, jade carved coffin inside
a dungeon deep. Awake to stars, secrets,
bit lips express. You race to taste your lithe
princess. In lace, I slumber, a nubile neck,
veined swath of flesh tempts teeth erect. My gasp,
your clasp of fingers keep. A curve of claw
that rests against my cheek. My shoulders grasped;
you hold me still. You drink my blood. Withdraw
my will. My days are naps in meadows with monarchs,
skylarks — different duties after dark.
Kristin Garth is a kneesock enthusiast and a Best of the Net nominated sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Glass, Five:2: One, Anti-Heroin Chic, Former Cactus, Occulum, Luna Luna, Yes & many more. She has a chapbook Pink Plastic House (Maverick Duck Press), two forthcoming: Pensacola Girls (Bone & Ink Press, Sept 2018) and Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019). Her full length, Candy Cigarette, is forthcoming April 2019 (The Hedgehog Poetry Press). Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie), her weekly poetry column (spidermirror.com/the-sonnetarium) and her website (kristingarth.wordpress.com).