A billion futures layered, made a molten blade
of black damascus steel swirling, bitter edged
with blessed poison to be drunk to the dregs.
I feel it stain my smile, my throat, my soul.
Hell, it burns … drink it scalding, feel that pain
to know you are alive; and pretend it tastes
as good as its fragrance promised, unholy scent
that made you open crusted eyes
and slur, ‘Here’s to another day.’
You cover me with your love
unconditional, you cover, cover me
from demons, a cloak, a comfort.
It scares me how you make me safe.
Your faith that I have worth
creates a version of me almost real –
the simplicity, the acceptance,
the delicate shroud of intimacy …
oh your smile veils me in joy,
the world blinks away; I fit.
We play in rumpled rainbows.
Our shouts of delight defy shame.
But sometimes at night I lie awake
and listen to you breathe, curl
into your warmth; each embrace
a wire tugging, the fear of knowing
the soul of me is an abomination
camouflaged by your desire.
Without you I would be laid bare,
scorned for my monstrousness.
My Lovely Goth
mystical as fuck.
Ambrosia turns to ashes
on his tongue …
The affair was
bitched from the outset
but oh damnation
it was fun.
I Am Not a Witch
A witch would weave strange signs
with fingers twisting like a vine,
capture with one word time’s essence
and distil it in a spell
to make this kiss eternal
in your passioned heart and mine.
The Devil himself in the vaults of hell
would pause to praise the potency
of that magic, its fiery intensity.
A witch would snare your soul then set it free
in faith that love would lure you willingly.
But I am no witch, and you feel no desire.
Just a kiss, one glimpse of paradise.
The magic’s all awry, my heart a liar,
and all you have to say is “That was nice.”