Succubus Resurgent

The Succubus starts to get her strut back.


She does something about her hair.

The stylist is stoked;

It's not every day she gets a genuine bona fide soul-stealing demon in her chair for a color and cut.

As the split ends fall,

Little smoke wisps curl up from the floor of the salon,

So that the place starts to smell like an unlikely combination of hair spray, peroxide, shampoo, and brimstone.

Succubi sleep around;

It's what they do.

Next thing they know, they're on Oprah, cautionary tales with long red fingernails, dabbing at their intense dark eyes with a hankie and blubbering out, "Mother was right. I'm miserable!"

Well, shit.

The Succubus is not about to let this happen to her.

She reminds herself that she is the kind of girl who hands out the ace of spades as a valentine,

Runs with the wolves,

And goes where she damn well pleases, doing what she will when she gets there.

She has stopped spelling out Chloe's name with the bones of her victims, though she knows she will never really forget her.

These days, she enters the dreams of Denise the waitress, but instead of stealing, she finds herself leaving shavings from her black and eternal heart behind,

Strewn across Denise's dreams like rose petals on white bed sheets.

Her love is such, that mornings find her woozy and talking gibberish, making up nicknames for her new baby,

Like "Pooky"

And "Love Muffin."

She would die if anybody besides Denise heard her,

But, the woman is impossible to resist...

Sitting in her shrimpy kitchen, smoking, wearing Van Gogh "Starry Night" jam bottoms and an old top, that though it is loose--or because it is--makes her breasts look so appealing that,

If there were a road where her stove and refrigerator are,

She would cause pile-ups all over the place--

Broken fenders and hearts.

When they kiss,

Denise's cigarette flares up in the ash tray like a sunspot,

The tv on the counter goes all weird,

And the copper-bottomed pots all fall off the wall.

"Be careful with my soul," whispers the Succubus, who knows better than most how to spot one that's been stolen.



Riot Kitty said…
I love the part about the curls of smoke :)
Tabitha Bird said…
Now there is a hairdressers I actually want to go to :)
the walking man said…
It goes to show that love, lust and desire all go hand in hand when passion is the flame.

Even the succubus is prey to love.

I think I am going to steal the Ace of Spades for Valentines idea.
ellen abbott said…
Ahhh, good. She couldn't be held down for long.
Anonymous said…
The Succubus is out there and I can feel her nearness.

TALON said…
I hope Pooky brings the succubus much happiness, but I fear the love bubble will burst in a puff of deep purple smoke.
Fireblossom said…
RK and Tab-- the hair salon bit is based on actual events!

WM, everybody's somebody's fool, although i suspect that my Succubus will always be Chloe's fool. As for the thievery: stop, thief!

Ellen, no, the Succubus is meant for greater things!

Secretia, she may strike when you least expect it!

Talon, isn't that a song? Deeeeeeeep purple smooooke....

This poem didn't decide it wanted to be written until after midnight, which means I was up til nearly two, finishing it. I am glad I'm off today!
mac said…
I, for one, am glad you stayed up late to write this :-)

It's nice to see that even the Succubus isn't immune to these things :-)
Daryl said…
who knows better than most how to spot one that's been stolen....

the succubus do
Cloudia said…
You are excellent!!!!!!!
No wonder I send my readers here today...

Aloha, Poetess

Comfort Spiral
Ileana said…
If her kiss causes this much commotion, can you imagine what happens when things get a little more heated?

PS - Just once I'd love to enter a salon and see a succubus getting a cut 'n dry. :)
Dul├že ♥ said…
I love this 'Return Of The Succubis...'
Tomorrow I might go to the hairdresser!
Kay said…
at what price does freedom lie? there aint nothin for can tell the Succubus i said so
Anonymous said…
I came back to read it once more.
When the Succubus whispered to be careful with her soul, a strong chill went through my whole body, not once but over and over, and it lasted more than a minute.
This is a gem!

Mama Zen said…
Well, shit. Exactly. Ain't gonna happen.

I love the Van Gogh pajama pants!

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