The Chronicles of Medusa

A man has never truly loved me, only the idea of me. I’m a figment of their imagination, a fixation. In their dreams, I live forever.

I line my lips. A kiss guides Satan from the tip of my tongue into his lungs. I’m taking hold of him but not his heart.

If I’m at home in his dreams, is it possible that he finds safety under my covers? Limbs intertwined, there’s no love without touch with him.

His breath hits my spine and I am his prisoner, bound to him by shackles. Love may turn even Medusa into stone.