Deflowering the Villanelle
by Arlene Ang

Her drowsy skin is stained by French cologne.
I watch her writhe to life by candlelight,
unfurl her breath against my collarbone.

My fountain pen rips through the stockings sewn
around her thighs. Through virginal off-white,
her drowsy skin is stained by French cologne.

A glass of Burgundy soon lays her prone.
Her words of protest simmer through the night,
unfurl her breath against my collarbone.

When her defences have been overthrown
like the flung pieces of a fallen kite,
her drowsy skin is stained by French cologne.

My fingers play her flesh like saxophone.
Her limbs strain for the perfect rhyme, its bite
unfurls her breath against my collarbone.

She comes to page with a releasing moan,
defiled by ink, lusts for another fight.
Her drowsy skin, stained by my French cologne,
unfurls its breath against my collarbone.