A Whiff of Women
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This poem was written on 12-16-2018. I used the place of an older poem to pop this onto Poetry Soup for one reason; so you would not accidentaly read it ahead of time. It is often good to wonder.
Gholam startled for a second, smelling the women;
his nose turned sharply to the east,
Glad he would be able to rapidly
pick up their scent after devouring his feast,
Madic had been an acquaintance of sort,
but his slimy slippery flesh was ripe for eating,
and Gholam was holding court.
Gholam was glad he had brought his sword,
wondering if there would be a reward
if he presented Madic’s head to The G-lord.
Feeling threatened, the possibility of being diced and eaten himself,
sends a warm tingly cascade of adrenaline down his back sided shelf.
Who would be the tastiest? Delectable, the most?
Mastication of Madic keeps him tied closely to his current host.
In a day or two, the juiciness will turn tasteless and sticky.
Two day old flesh is truthfully rather icky.
Gholam gulps his prey in appreciative bites,
relishing his feast, warm and salty.
It takes him to new cannibalistic heights.
He catches another whiff of the women, perhaps one will be his mate.
There is no haste to reach their coven beyond outer gate.
They will go down easy, not understanding until it is too late.
Date: 12-16-2018
Contest Name: Give Me Goosebumps
Sponsor Nina Parmenter
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2018
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