To Perdition

This night’s lady –

Too casually-chosen perhaps –

So-soon satiated, flutters

Easily between fantasy and sleep. And

I, alone, am conscious, again, of the

Anaconda in the witch-hour bedroom.

The one that seeks the carbon dioxide I exhale,

Brushes  my exposed skin in invisible passing;

Realising that, at long-last, I will be all-out

Of resistance when the judgement-jaws gape and

Fangs fashioned like no-absolution lightning

Lay bare my soul and fasten on my very core, pointing

The way; the only way – to Perdition …

To Perdition – and beyond!