Salome

The moon, like the waning smile of a dead woman, floats above
the clouds; untouched, unfettered. Below her cold chastity pours
forth the divination of prophets, terrible words drifting up to the
ears of princesses.

She dances, pale and beautiful, her heart entranced by a stranger
perfume than she has known. She twirls faster and faster, fire
flooding her veins. The words, blasphemous and beautiful, tempt
her, seduce her.

His body is pure, his voice strong, his mouth filled with a bitter
sweetness. And though he refuses her body, for it is sin; her
mouth, for it is cursed; her love, for it is profane; she suffers him
to be kissed with poisoned lips.

"Suffer me to touch thy lips," she says, her words drenched with
lust and honey. Warmth entwines with cooling flesh, breath
caressing an airless mouth, a kiss that only death could endure. Is
it love or blood she tastes on those chilling lips?

She dances, pale and beautiful, dreaming of a kiss and enamored with
a dead man's lips. Her passion, like an icy fire, burns within her breast,
flowing out of her as she tilts. Like precious rubies, her blood stains
the ground, falling like the reddest of rose petals against ivory skin.

And only a bloody moon and fading stars stand in recognition to a
headless lover and a fallen Salome.