The Professsor Compliments a Certain Lady

The Professor Compliments a Certain Lady I’ve known an ice princess or two, but you— You are cryo

-fucking-genic, you’re so cold. The last few vampires and werewolves that bit you Died of anaphylactic shock. You’re poison right down to the bone, And your bones are radioactive, So toxic that no matter how deep they’re buried, No matter if we vitrify them in leaded glass And bury them a thousand miles down, They’ll still be killing flies at the mouth of the cave A million years from now. Your caress has all the warm caring Of a hungry anaconda Dropping down out of the trees. And your idea of fine dining Involves a ginzu chef’s with whispering blades Applied to the hearts of men, Aztec fashion. Your voice is like a magical disease, A siren song that paralyzes the victim instantly, While your beauty washes away life and will Like the infernal fire of a thermonuclear explosion, Leaving shadows like me burned onto the walls. Your gaze has the shark’s flat black certainty Of an eternity of predatory evolution behind it. And yet with you, it’s always “Death and the Maiden.” Your fantasy is that you are the victim, Innocently lush and provocative as the girl In the slasher flick, dreaming of the invisible man Who’s always sneaking up behind her. And you exude all the warm enticement Of a saber tooth tigress in heat, The compassion of a black widow spider Or a lady mantis coolly decapitating her mate. And yet in spite of these little flaws in your character, Or perhaps, in a certain perverse way, because of them, I do still love you Too much to keep you in chains The way you keep me, mistress.

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