Bloody Jade With A Twist (I wanted to be the drug)
crazed in the black night,
life squirming sexward
in the crotch of a god.
sparks cross infernal eyes,
and she's bright and innocent
and bolder than we'd ever dreamed -
smooth skin all curves and soft
feather caresses and trembling fingers,
fevered eyes - she scans the faces
and we laugh one to another
in secret smoldering glances
borrowed from our dream-masks,
the ones we flip through like cards
in all our scheming and gambling days,
though we long-ago lost the coins
that go with our eyes.
her sex is the mouth of a river
and we the seaward wanderers,
thirsting for the never-dawn
of a distant shore
where pilgrim shadowselves
writhe and die in a desert,
drowning on air,
how hot the breaths we share -
and wanting to take her in
the same old ways - all the ways we were taken
when shining was ours, bright and innocent
as the girl so swift and seldom was.
black then as the limpid thought
that dawned our ****, she smiles
like nighttime cities from a crow’s eye;
spinning and tilting and falling skyward
while our lungs inhale the heaviness
and heartswell of dreamed descents.
I wanted to take you down to the source
and kneel beside you and sing thanks.
I wanted to draw the poison out of your swelling skin
and drink it down inside,
where it would counter this ambrosia and make me a mortal.
I wanted to drag you back from the brink of destruction
and rage against the demons in you,
lend my strength to unbreak the old vows
that haunt us out of faerie and into bars,
and back through the blurry-eyed rasping
brittle paper-thin days
(of cold sweat and terror of nothing)
to force dead hands to wring words into the ether(/or/net)
where all our twisted minds and hearts twine,
one through another interlapping,
(yes - I know it's not a word)
like our bodies in damp and hot seasons
beyond the rusted gates of now without a garden.
I wanted to be that girl,
and violated only so,
or the boy who brought her to our feasting-place
and threw her on the table.
I wanted to be the drug.
I wanted absolution or
I wanted to believe that I needed forgiveness
from an empty sky - for crimes that weren't crimes
until they were memories warped by bloody knowledge,
and dreams reviled for what they held of it,
and dank drippings
in a heart-shaped dungeon of wet echo.