A Ghost He Made By Accident
She succumbs inside a claw foot tub. The
wrong lips below, two more above splayed
and squeezed about a cock. How limberly
her torso rocks, thighs around his navel,
submerged face amidst the bubbles, slosh
of waves churning as he misbehaves
inside a body with a mind brainwashed.
Death was never discussed as cost. Slave
he allots such little breaths. Elevates
the spine, the dripping breasts, those second lips
bequeathed a gasp before bath water makes
its own death mask of a skull that is eclipsed
by the shuddering of maneuvered hips
of a ghost he made by accident.
Horror Sleaze Trash 