An old one I just stumbled across.
1. At the Window
She regarded the nearly empty bed dispassionately.
She thought she heard him say in a voice like rotten thread,
But it was only the wind.
She jumped lightly to the sill and was gone,
A shadow skimming over the fields.
2. Reality in the Evocation Tank
The display begins with a stroboscopic urgency
And an Etch-a-Sketch style: spare, unreal.
Soon the image of a gryphon acquires depth
And loses its surrealistic tone.
There is no sound at first, then a metronomic clicking,
Dopplering down to synchronicity with the beating light,
Then beyond, each tock a rumble in the gut,
Precipitating ripples upon ripples:
Loose bowels, goosebumps, sexual arousal....
3. Images on the Rack of Night
She tugged him away from the party,
Smiling intimately to draw him on.
"Come," she breathed, and led the way to her tower chamber.
There, she drew him down to her moist warmth.
He entered with a cry and she surged with him
Moaning, closing her eyes, and tossing her head,
But when his hand strayed silently
From her straining buttocks to his silver dagger,
Her eyes opened.
She pinned him with her gaze
And drained him like a glass of wine.
She shuddered with hypersexual ecstacy,
Then shrugged off his now-inconsequential weight
And rolled over, but at first made no move to rise.
The gryphon's head turns to regard her,
But there is nothing in the glance she can read.
She reaches out haltingly, as if to touch it.
Her hand sinks into the screen.
The gryphon lunges too swiftly for her to draw back:
Its bite is ice.
Its bite is fire.
She throws back her head and screams like a falcon.
The assassin gave nothing away, yet she knew him.
He would not strike where they could be observed,
So she made sure she stayed with the group,
Though it meant touring the garden several times
Before the party started.
The Voice within would tell her when it was time to act.
Already, she was thirsty.