A Shanty

She whispers quietly in the darkest night
binding spells in the growing misty light
working devotions of flesh and lust
from curves of fading dusk
In her attic room she dwells
as her ripe bosom fury swells
in every cramped and devious part
of her aged and blackened heart.
Each love that she has cast aside
in the Styx now reside
awake forever in sweet unrest
laid down in his Sunday best.
She poisoned the beginnings of their breath
and sent them off to the depth.