When a romance writer shifts her focus, matches wits with another, a different muse gains a voice…

It was random that she picked him
Her whispery voice had tricked him
In the dead of night
Beneath pale moonlight
The murderess claimed her victim

The little voice in his head
Had whispered words of dread
But he chose to ignore
And succumb to her allure
Thus to his death would tread

And when the deed was finished
Her hunger now replenished
The shallow grave would conceal
Her perfect male ideal
Till restraint eventually diminished

And then she’d hunt again
To find another man
Who’d fill her need
Abate her greed
For perfection to attain

In response to Mind and Life Matters limerick challenge