A DEMON LOVER

See demon-lovers?  They are everywhere.
It's a business, they're organized, all they want
Is a good going demon, nothing will do
Is But a cold frisson or a hot frisson,
Tell their friends they pressed alien flesh
Which then disappeared.  They get a branding

But it fades, and then they tell stories.
As for me, I have to take them as they came.
I'm striding across my path from clump to clump
With a bag of fruit and a flambeau, very pastoral
[Not really!], flashes a thigh and drops an apple,

Grins to see if I'll sink my teeth in the fruit
[Not really!], flashes a thigh and drops an apple,
Grins to see if I'll sink my teeth in the fruit
[have I teeth?] or hand it back [can I
Talk?]. I give the apple a fine hard kick
to show that I can interact with matter,
But keep my metabolism to myself.
The demon-lover glares a bit, accepts
My gesture that I'm hurrying on a mission,
Holds out her hand, his hand [who knows?], I
Clasp it like a vice and leave a brand
That will take days to die and give a colour
to whatever tale of pride and pain's held forth
for those unknown to me who finger the mark.
Is it braille? Can you follow? I don't mean
the text, I mean me! Do you even know
What a demon is? Could you be one? Well?