The Guest
Caitlin Ehrenberg
Love Letter to Miss Pryne
Joseph Bales

Is it not odd
that I find solace
in your wickedness,
that I am comfortable
within your abrasion.
That your deception intrigues me.

Oh, sweet Hester,
though your soul is sin
and your heart is malice,
your presence is release,
peeling a scab,
opening a wound.

Devil maiden,
the mark upon your bosom
is but a target for my passion,
hellish but hotter.

Your legs sing
siren’s verses.
With little resistance
I succumb to temptation,
into hedonism,
into the forbidden.

Hear me, Miss Pryne!
I long to wallow in your muck,
to be engulfed in your bosom,
to find rapture in your euphoria,
to linger in your wretchedness,
though I may leave infected.