Alchemisland

Darker and dark those arts I practiced

More brutal whips were cracked

Until her latticed flank resembled the Nazarene’s back

And still she came back

She came and came and came, and drank

All that came

Lank days, greased straight

In that post-beef languor

Full sex no hang ups

Had to leave sorry notes up with fridge magnets

Sorry for the banging and the language, lads

As an apology I’ve left bacon for sandwiches, and baps

Mild milk spill tearlessly proving obvious adages

A little death, return of the savage amongst inherited delf

And display plates which, I needn’t say, shan’t leave their shelves

Today or any other day, until of course I’m in the clay

Then it’s one fell swoop, them to whichever charity agrees to take.

I like it seedy, I like to peep and see, make it a show

Suffice to say, I prefer Eve leaning against a tree, fully leafed

Arms outstretched as if nails were next; crucifying Aoife.

Teased means pleased

She looks nothing like Anne of Cleaves

That slit like a bough cleaved

With bee-pleasing sap gleamed

What I lapped up, thirsty lapdog, went down easily, slathered

She licked my teeth and our frothy, rabid kissing made a lather

Of our fixtures, like clinkered ship sides holding but grinding

The flesh all but bound, melded

Her spine the finest book’s binding

Only I know what’s inside, a wondrous and gush-inducing treatise

An angel-incited guide to orgasms of trial and triumph

Denial of the highest, Nile at its highest, canine days

Heaven’s lathe visible plainly above the maze of the magus

Which sand secreted away a thousand ages

The guided grinding of the dope-high sages

The manspear a bayonet

And her birth cannon, like a fatal wound on a fading valkyrie

The blood she shed in rivers formed grizzly sagas on the foot of the eyrie

Where bones formed rude citadels.