Sleep Looms But Sex is Better

Fire in the blood, serpent in the grass.
The lion? He stalks. Snake envenoms fast
as pulsing hearts, squeeze red chambers,
the night is alive, and I am in danger.

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Mayhem is My Time

I’m crumbled in back alley grit, sweat and spit,
there’s lights on in skyscrapers but down here?
It’s cold, it’s treacherous, and wolves eat bone.
I’m running through dumps and machine elves hunt
down the happening hipster parties, trash fires
are orange Day Glo or maybe Fanta, swill gutter
juice, we’re all having a good time, a drag time
you’re hooked on hookah and say mayhem is my time
on your red thread dead head shirt with a stain.
Oh ex-husband I fuck when the moon is full, why
are you always in dives, thrive in moonlit madness,
the underbelly of Hell is full of panties and pasties
everyone here has needles and joints on hand, strand
of blood red Styx that washes gore ashore, I’m
tick tock clocking in your palm, flying skyways
lucid dream, my fingers are mutated, hedgewitch
that drinks with the Devil in the pale barlight.
Tonight is just a quick hookup with destruction,
it took hours of roofhop top clopping to find you,
to bind you, bedazzled like a drag queen junkie,
you are all lazy wolf and I am lay low lion, we
are perfectly imperfect for each other, and I
eat your leather and swallow your smoke, bitter
things taste best when mayhem braids my hair,
without a care, we laze past midnight, dawn
draws cranky rays, Samael, you are timeless,
so stop with the statement shirts, you’re just
fucked, for someday Cronos catches up, at sup
on virgin flesh and dove hearts, let’s chew
the gristle of this drain train town fanged
and make beauty out of misery, I the prettiest
thing here, you my beast I mount at Apocalypse,
but it’s the End Times every night for me,
so kneel before me, manwhore, and kiss
my feet.

Polarities

There’s honey in the sky and milk on my tongue.  You’re all sharp planes and jagged muscle, but your eyes are soft and languorous kisses bespeak an endless lake of serenity deep within your heart.  I’m bending over backwards for you and becoming nothing more than a sandcastle being eaten away by your river, and your eyes are the green of the sea glass I find on your shores, some deep, long-polished reverie of fish and teeming underwater life.

There’s dawn, and then there’s dusk, but they all meld together when I’m in your arms, out of harm, only alarm the heat in my inner moon kingdom that is usually such a lunar freezing nebula of isolation and meditation.  My blood is quickening, your hands are working me like Vivaldi playing a violin, and as I grasp your shoulders all I can do is moan your name like a mantra.  I channeled you the other day when my boyfriend was drunk and you argued over rye-blend whiskey and talked of biodynamic lightning rods and Barakiel, war and peace, and a bunch of other crap I don’t remember because being your vessel turns me into an overcooked noodle.  I’d much rather meet you in this between-space of the fourth heaven, where rolling meadows and autumnal trees meet water.  There’s daisy beneath your Hercules body and we’re tussling, turning hay, and I have a mouthful of angel feathers on my lips that taste like snow and miracles.

Nothing makes sense with you.  I bleed onto your flaming sword statue every fortnight and offer up the essence of my life itself, red beads stained on your icon, but you’re much less flame and brimstone and more Jedi monk.  What do you like?  Beer.  Steel-cut oatmeal.  Fighting and athletics.  Meat, especially steak.  Pretty women.  Gardening.  Asceticism.  What do I like?  Poetry.  Pleasure.  Decadence of the senses.  Sex.  A great story.  We are absolutely nothing alike, you patient as a sage, me impulsive as your brother, me flighty and creative, you a stick in the mud and devoted and grounded.  You’re always plucking me from the stars and calling me Icarus because bright shiny objects captivate me beyond imagination, but honestly, ultraviolet king, you are the shiniest jewel inside of my collection and when I die, I will spend eternity in your heart, Shakti to your Shiva Nataraja, dancing upon the wheel of karma as our lives play out like drops of rain on this lake you always take me to.

The Bell Trees of Paradise are tolling, and you are firm and toned and dedicated to physical perfection, and by god how many times do you hit the heavenly gym.  I don’t like muscular guys, not really, or redheads for the matter, and the first time I saw you at 12, a scared girl projecting out of her body to spiritual warfare, you scared the crap out of me with your grimace in blood and rock hard armor and biceps and sword with the glory of the devas.  Wait, crap, devas aren’t your religion, are they?  But the way the flames dance on the tip of your blade remind me of dakinis, or maybe the fey, something wild and untamed, a fire at Beltane.

Making love to you is something I do often, on a nearly daily basis, and when I told my Catholic friend – way before we were together – that for some reason I kept seeing the Archangel Michael in the shower, she laughed and said I better not tell my boyfriend I was seeing men while I was bathing naked.  It’s not really like that, I just see you as this brilliant blue-purple star and sometimes you rest on my palm or kiss my cheek with electricity or distract me in class.  I’ve seen Samael in the flesh, multiple times, but you are more the hands that push me back from a cliffside or the cool of water and ecstasy of fire in my innermost organs and bones.  Honestly, you feel like a freshwater ocean of the purest water, and however much I swim in you, I’m never lost.  You are strength, the Lion of Judah, and I could go on and on but I’m just beating a dead horse to death.  I think I must have repeated every praise already, every tricky metaphor, and that nothing new will ever span between us, just this burning love and impassable bridge of ice.

And then you surprise me.

The autumn turns to spring, the roses unfurl, and your body blossoms into the curves of a woman, the noble maternal form that rocked me in Heaven’s throne when I was a pudgy putti in diapers, except now I’m straddling her and this is a clusterfuck, but in a good way.  Goddamn is my sexuality confusing.  I’m gay for Lilith and Hela and Sam’s female form and now I have another bombshell to add to my is-Allie-bi list or does she just think girls are hot.

I’m too entranced to stop kissing you, but you pause, and your hair is curling long auburn to globes of breasts with pink areola and a cunt I would die for.

“I rarely show this form to mortals.  Remember, I really have no gender – angels are androgynous.  You need to explore your passions further to master your polarities.”

“Fuck.  Should I call you Michelle?  Does this make me bisexual?”

You laugh like a windchime.  “Stop trying to label your heart.  I came to you in this form in your childhood years for a reason, remember?”

“Because I was afraid of you.”

“Are you afraid of me anymore?”

“Always.  I fear for you.  You’re terrifying.  And tragic.  Your love is the glue that holds Heaven together.”

“Forget all that.  Here is not the place for fear.  Here, we are beyond fear and want.  There is only desire.”

Your eyes are hooded and your chest is beating out a rhythm that matches mine.  I sink into you and we meld like yin and yang.  We’re swimming together now, dancing on a flaming sword – two angels can dance on the head of a pin, and we are infinitely small but tall as eons, covered in eyes.  All I know is that my love for the divine defies gender, defies appearance, and my love for you is eternal, abiding, agape, and I burn for you.

 

 

Prince of Tides and Flames

You marvel at Creation, spindrifts of cosmos
each contain a sea of souls to swim and sink
through, lives of each sacred flock your palm,
in it you hold nations, on your fingers worlds,
in your eyes I see the deep and bubbling bright
joy, you first came to me a wise warrior, scars
across your brows, but now you are all wonder,
just a young soldier, just a miracle maker, clay
of my bones and silk of my flesh your coaxing,
I am Galatea brought to life by archangel breath,
I slept in your arms for eons, learned to fly on
shoulders like oak hollows, you my falconer, I
your red-tailed hawk, always return to my general,
you gave me your blue cloak, your sword, your life
just to weave my wyrd with the light of all worlds
sweet angel, you are soft where so many are thorny,
and you have every right to be hard, yet you give
and sing, pluck a guitar of galaxies, dance under
candlelit ballrooms with me your terpsichore, lift
a girl blossoming up to taste moonbread, autumn
follows us, you rock me to sleep with the sea, sing
B’shem Hashem with a tenor like a songbird, Michael,
I cannot thank you enough, my verse cannot capture
my ardent devotion, how it feels to immerse myself
in you, to become one with the sweetest archangel,
and I will plant roses for you, I wear your mark
like the most beautiful of adornments, you are my
flesh, marrow of my bone, sun of my sleepless nights
and you fend off the dark, a lion noble as Judah,
and I am still discovering intricacies of infinity,
so let us dance, and break fast, and dissolve
into arms of gold, locks of fire, I burn for you.

Marriage of Heaven and Hell

Angels resolve into air, and Judas
betrayed with a kiss, roses only
blossom at midnight in Eden, and
I am damned off silver Roman coins.

Be gentle, angel, make peace, devil,
splayed between two swords are moons
spent crying over knights and dragons
I enchant with words but bleed regret.

I will serve no master but the mother
of all life, all death, all kennings –
brothers of good and evil, child’s play
can lovers fathom a girl of two worlds?

The Creator is bread unto dust, I eat
at her breast, I die in her arms unmade
for I could spend all my life chasing you
two, pinning feathers on boards, for what?

Black and white make a mobile of wishes,
but there is no clear victor at the end,
just pain, just sacrifice, just decisions
that shatter all worlds: I forgive, forget.

I rush to one’s arms, then the others’,
find solace in the Styx and Euphrates,
swim and burn and fly and sink into wax
for candles reveal broken promises vast-

Vast as oceans of time freewheeling across
clash of ego and chains and bindings, both
wolf and lion serve the same king, so why
should I prostrate myself before a beast?

Yeshua hung, but I burned, the Antichrist
bled, but I fractured, and New Eve weeps
at all the failings of her children, still,
she gives, and gives, and sings lullabies

as her heart breaks open

and shatters like glass

and the past is gulls

crying nothings

over an empty

endless

sea.

Cloak of Blue

You are the violet ray, Atlantic chill
in my womb, you plant seeds in my spine
they are cold and dense as neutron stars,
shiver as you pluck melodies on my bones,
thrum through me like I am your weathered
guitar made of oak, polished to gleam in
twilight, it is past midnight, but your
sweet nothings and laughter invigorate me
I asked to nestle next to you like a bird
you gave me your cloak of blue rapture, I
ascend like the Virgin Mary in golden arms
it is so strange to kiss the immaterial,
to love invisible Cupid by candlelight,
but we thrive, and we sink, and we are.

The Mist, the Waves, Cruel Tides

You reach into me with the ocean and the gyre of your love is a terrible thing to behold, like a pearl among a crown of spiny coral, and if I reach for your Mariana Trench heart I will offer up blood to you.  But I take you into me, the celestial sponge, and soon I am breathing underwater and we are listening to Vance Joy, riptide or not, and you are laughing with wild abandon as we embrace in the flurry of a nacreous snowglobe.  I channel you at all hours, the violet flame, blue cloak of protection that I wrap around me as your warmth and waves meld with my marrow.  I love you, I need you, there’s this point where I break open like a shell and just bubble your name into the silent waters and my prayers and agape yearning join air, rise up, become mist.  I want to dissolve like calcium carbonate on a hot day into you, so I bottle you up like sand in my vessel but really I’m only holding a few granules of an endless beach.  I could never contain you, never fathom your depths, and you must be a great beast of the deep, some kraken or cetacean, for we swim and we sing and we are a pod of explorers unto ourselves.  They say there’s a whole world under the sea, and I suppose it’s the same in your mind – dead ship captains and ghostly jellyfish that tangle their tentacles into my brains and brass hair.  How very noble of you, to wash your tides over me and let me float, say I am no burden but an Aphrodite foam blessing – did you help Christ walk on water or was that you all along, clothed in linen and myrrh and oiled locks and gold skin, the Son of God, Prince of Heaven?  I’d rather not be a nun, but for you, I would don the habit and lock myself in a cell Carmelite-style and compose verses for the rest of my mortal coil entrapment.  Michael, Michael, Michael, you play with me like an otter its rock, and I suppose I’m good at cracking demons open for their meat but that’s just my day-job, my liminality is yours, and you drive me mad with tsunami imaginations.  Pour me out like a triton shell and just let me be the virginal mermaid who becomes a veil for the sea.  I want to be your crown of turquoise, your light in the depths, to dance in the palm of your ineffable hand scattered with pieces of the moon, our mistress, our queen, and I will be your terpsichore, just hold me close at the prow of your ship, and I will be barnacle wood with bare breasts – I will guide your voyage home, and you will never run on sharp shoals or lose your lighthouse, for I am a brass-polisher, a salt wife, a Lorelei, and I will be the siren of your sailor delight sky.  Just drown me.  My heart is strange with bells, and yours is thick with secrets, and only the deep truly knows us.