Bruised berries,
Handpicked cherries,
Titillating trips on trains,
And unanswered texts on Cromer beach

A rose with thorns,
Careful how you touch her,
Hell, hath no fury like a succubus scorned
Unless she is coming on her knees
Begging you for air to breathe

On furry tail
Her twisted tongue,
Arose loose lips, and
Her peeking bum

Kindness before cleanliness
Her motto when she wakes
Succeeded only by wickedness
A lonely twist of fate.

Sandy toes and salty kisses
Her dark beauty dances,
Among sandcastles her silhouette sways
Daughter of the night,
She bathes among salty tears at moonlight

Beware, or else your dreams she will enter
creeping across cold comfort comes
Her gift, her warmth.
Whether her apples be sweet or sour,
Her garden lay thee to rest