The sweetness was turned to adamantine, heartless cruelty,
and the purity to voluptuous wantonness.
It isn't blood I want, but innocence—
to change that tight girlish walk into
a woman's lazy sway that men construe
as offering, to swap youth's diffidence
for appetites of more carnal sense.
I don't seek domination, to subdue
a testy spirit with studied cool.
Instead, I open blossoms, free their scents
to capture more than she I've touched,
for nothing is more natural than evil
and legs form perfect traps when they are spread.
Innocence once torn cannot be stitched,
but rips away the innocence of several.
A woman so awakened lives undead.
Survivor Poetry Contest
Form O (Italian Sonnet)