6:4: “The Dance of the Seven Veils”, by Marcie Lynn Tentchoff

6:4: “The Dance of the Seven Veils”, by Marcie Lynn Tentchoff
Salome,” he calls to me,
the stranger from another world,
who looks so much the same as us,
but is so different skin to skin.

“Salome, come dance for me,
you know the one I like the best.”
He leers, and slumps back in his chair,
a flask of helljuice in his hand.

Salome, a legend’s name.
I fix a smile upon my face
and peel the first dry veil away,
the flaking stratum corneum.

“Salome.” I turn my back,
lucidum, granulosum drop,
my every step exposing more
of me to his flesh-hungry eyes.

“Salome.” A whisper now.
His eyes are glazed, his breath is hot,
I twist and writhe a serpent’s dance,
the layers falling faster still.

“Salome,” he groans and pants.
I spin and let the last veil fall,
ignoring that much-hated name
to kneel down, bleeding, at his feet.


Marcie Lynn Tentchoff is an Aurora Award winning poet/writer from the west coast of Canada. Her work has appeared in On Spec, Weird Tales, Dreams and Nightmares, and Illumen, as well as in various anthologies and online publications.

“The Dance of the Seven Veils” was inspired by an article I read that described the seven layers of the human skin.



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