To Gorgon’s Next Prey

Her bed-head full of snakes, her whispers dripping venom. Her green glare upon me, condemning me to her garden of statues for eternity. With my mouth pasted shut and my hands molded to my sides, my warning is only as loud as the chill up my rigid spine.

You wander the cobblestone pathways, slithering your fingertips over my concrete cheeks. Are you in awe of her collection, wondering how she scored so many museum-worthy pieces?

Does she forbid you from meeting her eyes just yet?

Does she blindfold you and let the boas constrict around your throat in slithering eroticism?

You see, most know of Medusa as a villain, a beast whose looks can kill. However, her sins are not a result of malevolence, but merely a curse. Once a gentle woman, her purity was stolen by Poseidon, and her hair began to hiss. Never may she feel the touch of warm flesh again.

You may liken yourself to King Arthur, and attempt to pull the sword from stone.

To save Medusa from alienation.

To be the only lover who remains soft among the serpents.

But when you finally peer into her viridescent eyes, her pupils will shrink into her skull. The pythons will recoil in crippling panic, and their tongues will shriek in utter petrification before you can see Medusa for what she truly is: A shriveled worm, worthy only of a basilisk’s mocking.

And before you can watch her wither away, you will harden from the feet up.