...

oceans of pain

oceans of hurt

wash up scabs

on the beaches

of her dreams

" did i tell you i am a fish?"

these ghostly bones

of driftwood

are but the deadwood

of her womanhood

" i caught the bouquet on sunday!"

nocturnal tides

splash her bedclothes

& perhaps cold arms

are reflected

in the mirror closets

of her lunacy

" i could have murdered someone... me."

the moon in her

decrement

her horns wreathing

the side sinister

i insert my phallus...

" her death."

dark the tides they turn & turning

twist towards a distant shore

like horses white the night is burning

with the intensity of phosphor

blind the eyes that burn & burning

fathom not these seas of dreams

but turn towards an inner yearning

& are cast up by life's lesser streams

her reflection in the mirrorpool fallen

perfection is deranged & estranged then

surface patterns she once thought hers

shatter as with the wash of deeper waters

splattered the drowning girl flounders

in the dreamsandelirium around her

stippled with spumescence

& aroused to tumescence

the flowing body of the ocean drifts

over her ripples within her hidden rifts

swimming the spangled shallows of her nudity

with tidal motions unveiling strands of nubility

subtly submerged in flesh-spasmed ceremony

fingers flickering like phantasms in filigree

shear the corsetry of her bridalguise

with blood-laced passions disguised

as the lover lustrous with breasts bare

writhes in the straddle of her nightmare

dappled like the shadows within her sea-horse eyes

wetlocked in the rank grapple of sweat-flecked thighs

she rides bare backwaters surging at the reign

of  her watercolour lover merging again & again

with the foaming mouth of the ocean as it moves

& her kingdom is coming with the sound of hooves

...

...

...

my dark temptress arabella

your intoxicating dementia

a nimbus of gold

flies upon the air

from temples luminescent

alighting where ?

my dark seductress arabella

your heavenly anaesthesia

falling phosphorescent

from skyclad heights

down to earth

what perverse delights ?

my dark mistress arabella

your divine lethia

the descent

of flowers venomous

wreathed crimson in your kiss

sinking to what diabolical depths

of saturnalian bliss !

within the black bed her

dark love a red spread

of poppies petal-dead

the skin of her delirium

pierced with thoughts unfeeling

as fears unfurled flutterwings

night-blooming flowers

crushed against her skin

a bruise on the beauty within

the rush of my lust

blooming lush & violent

in violet

naked in obstetrical eyes

her sacrifice mirrored

the bodies of men myriad

mine fragmented there too

the figment a phallusy

merging flesh to fantasy

without a whisper she bleeds

least wordfluids intrude

upon our worlds still in solitude

she gentles the moist crimson heart

flapping nocturnally

beneath her white hands

ravenwounded

& eating her love

with fragile bloodkisses

she razors her entrails

nightwatching

you with witchcraft eyes

fluttering

blackly in the nightweeds

down

down

down

in the depths of her flowerlands

where petalled things darkly grow

& things darker still

bloom empassioned in shadow

bleeding in beds of white feathers

where you sensually writhe

watching incubi fondling

a gutrazored dove

ravished

beneath the dog-star of her love

she razorblades a smile

at the thin air

where terrible birds

suicide themselves

autumnally

&

standing there

just standing there

on that sad bridge

she gouges

abstract fingers at flesh

watching her wound

you

with anatomical eyes

&

about her face

suddenly a black raven

flaps darkly

just

once & is gone

she flutters there

in the terrible air

where

a raven-mad girl

once

flapped in despair

&

glistening on darkwings

she softly sings

a fledgling thought

to the empty trees

her sad sad face

a bloodnest of imaginings

stillborn

in the terrible air

&

standing there

she brooded alone

just once before

she stepped

skyclad

into the death

the autumn air kept

as she leaves

wilted

with the worm's slitherings unseen

the last russet whisperings

of autumnal withering

are witched from wood

falling

forlorn to a grasp of weeds

where wreathed

wists of glume gather

with rusted lustre

leaving

a grope of wormwood

gallowed

grotesquely against the waiting sky

the garden of persephone

is overgrown with weeds

pale passings remembered

in garlands of leaves

where once passions bloomed

the hopeful husks of seeds

clustered in the russet foliage

autumn draws its umber shades

across another lustrous day

the season of incipient decay

nothing to hide

the awkward angles of branches

against the sky

across god's plains

through autumn rains

that never fall

she comes, she comes

through ponderous forests -

wet flesh glistens:

stops. listens...

to the macaws call

as thunder drums, drums

upon the veld, the dry bushveld

where baobabs melt

in their truncated journey skyward

she comes, she comes

larger than geography: sheltered

by the gigantic bones of trees

from summer's swelter

the sun hums, hums

rumbling...

with lumbering undergrowth tumbling

about her monstrous girth

a birthplace of rift & ravine

a space of mirth

...humbling

she comes, she comes bearing her gift

within fleshwrapping's slough smothered

( while foetal thoughttangles were mothered )

in frailty my form was forged

( immaculate in gravity we merged )

with gravid motions of fertility

( in naked emotion exposing flesh's fecundity )

motherbound with umbilical chords

( binding beneath the bloodscape words )

as lullabies we were conceived

( our selves where one in the other believed )

in the fields of the womb my embryonic lover

( as the roots of illusion were uncovered )

aroused moistly from wombtide rest

( i suckle mercurial mouth to breast )

in generic perfection undefiled

( my moongrown reflection the girlchild )

with tides rivergentle given

( from my genitals riven )

for i am she who forgets

( as i am she who begets )

dismemberment in charnel seas

( remembering carnal intimacies )

of her gender i am undressed

( where bloodloving me she caressed )

my lips of vice above hers

( we slip under visceral covers )

as siamese twins we writhe

( sensually in each other alive )

like pale insects trysting

( together incestuously twisting )

in knots of senseless longing

( not unlike the sense of belonging )

that in anatomically severing

( forever to a death where we begin )

we loose in ourselves the one lover

( to lose ourselves in one another )

daemiana ( or the demon [love] )

[wearing the love-suit]

he thinks she's looking

rather kissy today

thinks that she looks

delicious every day

&

every night

[that gorgeous mouth closes upon his ]

in dreams

[ he eats her feasts

upon the flesh fantasy ]

if the naked truth be known

&

we do want to

know the truth

don't we

[ feel ]

this is not something

to fly away from

[ ephemeron ]

it is

the reality he

feels

his feelings

[ burning like moths over candles ]

at night

he feels

he doesn't have the passion

to live

in a world without her

love

& he

feels

she feels it

flaming in the air

between

them too

for no demon would be so cruel

as to make

her write him

love-letters like this

if

she didn't feel just a little

bit of

[ something ]

too

& yes he thinks

she's looking

rather kissy today

& maybe

he'll write her

a love-poem

about the demon who lives within

feeling

fearing

burning

feeling

feeding

while the mad mad moths chart

flaming circles around his heart

so pale the skin of her

thin

fingers so ghostly unlike

her grasping the lip

of the creationbox

stirring the things within

(unseen)

hinted at perhaps in the violet

of her eyes the contour of her

flowered dress her dress of

lilac or marsh lilies

yet not

as blue as they

filigree her distracting you

from the stirrings that move you

perhaps

or what she has

found in the dust of the almost

empty

box now slightly open

like her

thin lips or

the door of your imagination

yet not

the same shade of twilight

not yet

as moist certainly

& therein the passion

to give birth to dust

the spark electric

you see in her eye

then in the dust

like a star fallen

or the touch of god

in dust she squats

dusk-stained skies

cusping the secret

a swollen woman

with deathmoon eyes

the fruit of her

glistening redly

a bloated bloodplum

ruptured

once plucked

from the carnal

tree

slithering

from its mercy-seat

the coil

descends in darkness

spilling

fracid fluctuations

to the

soil

ripe

the pomegranate

bloating

her navel

bursts

into glorious bloom