Aubade
Vince Gotera
—a terza rima haiku sonnet
Steve grinned, waking up
to see Stephanie’s cute face,
freckled, soft pink lips
parted slightly, lace
lingerie showing pale throat.
Spring morning sun’s rays
streaming in to light
Steph’s bobbed hair on ginger fire.
Her eyes blue, cobalt.
“Can’t believe you’re here,”
he said. She smiled, then her tongue—
black, forked—shot out, her
teeth yellow and crooked, fanged.
He screamed. Woke up. Steph turning . . .
