Deep in a copse, under a thicket of brambles his member strokes your inner thigh.

Cotton sodden from dampened earth, and a mystical murmur hangs beneath the treeline. 

It trickles down your leg to mingle with mud and leaves, like a wet dream;

a Rorschach test – all confused and simpering with a desire for strong arms to embrace withered principles.

It was how nature intended; a predatory feast of the faltering prey. 

The wet snap of twig, maybe bone… muffled screams; the struggle of young innocence and a bloody, wild-eyed tear. 

The brightly coloured ribbon you wore now stained milky, the pattern obscured. 

Blisters birthed at the hem of your passage; you denied him his ‘rightful’ entry, too many times…

Hair; a nest of knots and frays, your finest dress ragged and crimson, like the blushing flesh beneath it. 

A crackled smirk strained from ear-to-ear to acknowledge his seed now sown, 

and the feral twitching of a body exhausted in the brittle cold.

Cedars and pines, hushed faces etched into their skin like judge and jury, devour the foisty scent of this barbarous act.

In your retreat, you fell on the crooked slope;

all forlorn and aching, the wetness of your soiled dress, the only thing that would cling to you now. 

To lurch forward; tarnished and broken bodied over the dyke of damnation,

past the frayed rope-swing and beyond the heavy breaths he parts with. 

Eyes crazed and bloodshot, so vivid the memory. Programmed, perhaps, by his commander-in-chief?

Crowing in his ivory tower of decadence and decay. 

He said he no longer needed to worry about such things, he said I had it coming, it was his right… 

When it was over, his tie wasn’t the only shade of red he now wore.