Sex and Murder Magazine

By Ed Curtis

Women lay down easily, magnets for knives
whittled into rigor mortis.
My torn flesh aphrodisiac.
Penetrate the living.
Penetrate the dead.
Hard-on in necroconfusion,
a heartbeat just doesn’t do it for me.

There you walk on the empty street.
Rising from my stomach pit
I have a plan to make you my orgasm.
Chance has landed on you
and I won’t be sorry.

No, don’t run.

My blade drools,
psst, here Kitty Kitty Kitty
psst, here girl.