Streetwalker as Stalker, etc.
By
LindaAnn LoSchiavo
Streetwalker as Stalker
"The moon, with its pale glow, casts a mysterious spell upon the world, awakening the beast within."
–– "The Howling" (1977) by Gary Brandner
The cigarette’s a prop, badass glamour.
Strategically ripped fishnet stockings
Suggest my needs will make it easier
To offer less, avoid the condom fuss.
A man’s assessment of a harlot’s heart
Includes how high those heels, how tight her skirt.
A goth chick seems sufficiently sin-dipped,
Equipped for kinky sex, coded darkness,
Unlikely to snuff out slow-stroked smolder.
He won’t suspect this is my time of month –
Bright full moon cameoing snout and claws
That pin him to the bed, unleash his blood,
Ripping apart his flesh ‘til sucked bone dry.
Previously published in the June 2025 Issue #23 of Spectral Realms
Wolf Girl Relishes the Wolf Moonrise
In January, howling starts before
The Wolf Moon fattens, rouses appetites.
Lupa unzipped her human flesh, which masked
Her wolfishness, peeved that outsiders forced
Shape-shifters to conform when traditions
Created bonds, togetherness, and pride
In sharp teeth – carcass-shredding bold canines.
As dusk neared, she approached the meeting place.
The pack has punched through fog like ten knuckles,
Loud wolfsong paving twilight with unrest,
Aware their wilding will start come moonrise.
Lupa recalled another hunt. A beast
Resisted as she clawed its breasts, no give
In that tough hide – but sweet pink meat throughout.
Her tipsy parents, partying with friends,
Believed she’s home in bed, not cleaning up
Intestines with her tongue, obsessed, moonstruck.
As words replaced gruff growls, she glanced around
To fold the scene like laundry, pack away
Red souvenirs, simplicities – unlike
Reprieves from hunger. Sly triumph will be
The windowsill she’ll rest her elbows on.
Note: January’s full moon is often called the Wolf Moon, a name which may date back to when wolves would howl outside villages.
Previously published in the Autumn 2024 issue of Black Petals Magazine and December 2025 issue of Penumbric Speculative Fiction Magazine.
Eurydice in the Underworld
Persephone, surrounded by her nymphs,
Applied herbs to my fatal viper bite.
Once healed, I fell into my future self,
Forgot that sickening melody — hiss.
Death knows which songs are no invitation
To follow. I have found contentment here,
Freed from fidelity’s bridle and bit,
Enjoying dancing, being unattached.
His name announced, I startled: Orpheus!
My memory hummed, taking charge again
As notes became refrains, small narratives
About male arrogance resurfacing,
Revealing his seductive sway, muscles,
Lush springtime itch of him, raw confidence
Born of music’s gifts — not of prophecy.
Performance driven, my husband believed
He knew what’s best for his Eurydice --
But didn’t know the rules of Hades’ realm
Where shades and mortals don’t communicate.
Would he intuit what I can’t describe?
"Miss me?" my heart sighs. "Just decide to die."
Native New Yorker and award-winner, LindaAnn LoSchiavo is a member of British Fantasy Society, HWA, SFPA, and The Dramatists Guild.
Her erotic bestseller "Concupiscent Consumption" [Red Ferret Press, 2020] is out of print and seeking its next home.
Released in November 2025: "Cancer Courts My Mother" (Prolific Pulse Press, 2025) and "Vampire Verses" (Twisted Dreams Press, 2025).
Forthcoming: "Dracula Before Stoker: The Prelude" (HallöwHartt Püblishing) and "Past Tense: Portraits and Poems of Suicides" (Prolific Pulse Press, 2027).
Find out more about her on Substack @GreenwichVillagePoet
By
LindaAnn LoSchiavo
Streetwalker as Stalker
"The moon, with its pale glow, casts a mysterious spell upon the world, awakening the beast within."
–– "The Howling" (1977) by Gary Brandner
The cigarette’s a prop, badass glamour.
Strategically ripped fishnet stockings
Suggest my needs will make it easier
To offer less, avoid the condom fuss.
A man’s assessment of a harlot’s heart
Includes how high those heels, how tight her skirt.
A goth chick seems sufficiently sin-dipped,
Equipped for kinky sex, coded darkness,
Unlikely to snuff out slow-stroked smolder.
He won’t suspect this is my time of month –
Bright full moon cameoing snout and claws
That pin him to the bed, unleash his blood,
Ripping apart his flesh ‘til sucked bone dry.
Previously published in the June 2025 Issue #23 of Spectral Realms
Wolf Girl Relishes the Wolf Moonrise
In January, howling starts before
The Wolf Moon fattens, rouses appetites.
Lupa unzipped her human flesh, which masked
Her wolfishness, peeved that outsiders forced
Shape-shifters to conform when traditions
Created bonds, togetherness, and pride
In sharp teeth – carcass-shredding bold canines.
As dusk neared, she approached the meeting place.
The pack has punched through fog like ten knuckles,
Loud wolfsong paving twilight with unrest,
Aware their wilding will start come moonrise.
Lupa recalled another hunt. A beast
Resisted as she clawed its breasts, no give
In that tough hide – but sweet pink meat throughout.
Her tipsy parents, partying with friends,
Believed she’s home in bed, not cleaning up
Intestines with her tongue, obsessed, moonstruck.
As words replaced gruff growls, she glanced around
To fold the scene like laundry, pack away
Red souvenirs, simplicities – unlike
Reprieves from hunger. Sly triumph will be
The windowsill she’ll rest her elbows on.
Note: January’s full moon is often called the Wolf Moon, a name which may date back to when wolves would howl outside villages.
Previously published in the Autumn 2024 issue of Black Petals Magazine and December 2025 issue of Penumbric Speculative Fiction Magazine.
Eurydice in the Underworld
Persephone, surrounded by her nymphs,
Applied herbs to my fatal viper bite.
Once healed, I fell into my future self,
Forgot that sickening melody — hiss.
Death knows which songs are no invitation
To follow. I have found contentment here,
Freed from fidelity’s bridle and bit,
Enjoying dancing, being unattached.
His name announced, I startled: Orpheus!
My memory hummed, taking charge again
As notes became refrains, small narratives
About male arrogance resurfacing,
Revealing his seductive sway, muscles,
Lush springtime itch of him, raw confidence
Born of music’s gifts — not of prophecy.
Performance driven, my husband believed
He knew what’s best for his Eurydice --
But didn’t know the rules of Hades’ realm
Where shades and mortals don’t communicate.
Would he intuit what I can’t describe?
"Miss me?" my heart sighs. "Just decide to die."
Native New Yorker and award-winner, LindaAnn LoSchiavo is a member of British Fantasy Society, HWA, SFPA, and The Dramatists Guild.
Her erotic bestseller "Concupiscent Consumption" [Red Ferret Press, 2020] is out of print and seeking its next home.
Released in November 2025: "Cancer Courts My Mother" (Prolific Pulse Press, 2025) and "Vampire Verses" (Twisted Dreams Press, 2025).
Forthcoming: "Dracula Before Stoker: The Prelude" (HallöwHartt Püblishing) and "Past Tense: Portraits and Poems of Suicides" (Prolific Pulse Press, 2027).
Find out more about her on Substack @GreenwichVillagePoet
