No price upon your soul.

Your soft pale pink lips invite me toward you,
they entice me, I sense them against my own,
they draw me into the sexual fantasy.
Your words have become invalid now
as I wear this, desire, like a second skin,
tinted red perhaps. But who truly knows
what a succubus looks like in your eyes.
As my fingers twitch I smell the acidic
scent of your burning flesh. I hear the
deep screams of your soul as it is
torn from your body, the empty vessel
of flesh and bone. The smoke is tainted,
vanilla, jasmine and hints of musk.
There is relief that I have never looked
you in the eyes, for I fear if this happens,
one of us will lose our soul.