A trio of Hallowe'en triolets for the Poetry Bus

I'm very early for the Poetry Bus this week but a) I've been in a writing frame of mind the past few days and b) we have visitors for the weekend, so not sure about time constraints.
This week the bus is in Gran Canaria, being driven by Liz Gallagher (see her site for some real poets) and the ticket price is to write a terrifying triolet or some other scary Hallowe'en poem.
The only triolet I've ever written is about Willie O'Dea (see here) a pretty damn scary subject but probably too frightening for pre-watershed consumption.
So I've been writing a few more. Actually, I'm not that fond of the triolet. I feel that 4th line is one repetition too much - it should be a 'b' rather than an 'A', for those who do lettered notation. But who am I to quibble with a poetic form hundreds of years old?

(i)

Tonight I dine upon your sweet, sweet lips,
a prelude to the long-awaited feast,
consisting of some meat sliced from your hips.
Tonight I dine upon your sweet, sweet lips,
served on a bed of rice, or maybe chips,
sautéed on a skillet lightly greased.
Tonight I dine upon your sweet, sweet lips
a prelude to the long-awaited feast.

(ii)

I slipped into the room while you were showering,
the water swirling swiftly down the drain,
and flung the curtain back and stood there glowering.
I slipped into the room while you were showering
and though you screamed and put your hands up, cowering,
the knife came down again, again, again.
I slipped out of the room while you were showering,
your life blood swirling swiftly down the drain.

(iii)

You think I’m just a voice inside your head
but deep inside, you know I’m flesh and bone.
Mothers breathe your name with fear and dread.
You think I’m just a voice inside your head
but all those corpses stuffed beneath your shed
did not result from your pale hands alone.
You think I’m just a voice inside your head
but deep inside, you know I’m flesh and bone.