Kissing Lilith

There is bone china between us, chamomile secrets
the snake is not supposed to be in chiffon and silk,
but she wears it like a skinned angel, wings, halos
cut to form a necklace for moon-pale neck of beauty.
I am in lace and blue embroidery, Virgin to Whore,
Sophia tells Eve all the secrets of the cursed Garden
how an Archon of Wisdom and Angel of Conception fell
Mother became Monster, and I hold her hand as tremble
spill of tears sully an ivory gown, Night Howler hair
writhes out like snakes, and sometimes her skin poisons
me into fevered stupor, but our lips lock in desperation
both prisoners of the Devil but his masters all the same
to be woman and myth and exiled from grace means shadows
of Eden will draw spine-tingles from desert dreams, she
tests me, rests me, confesses to me, she is ablution,
corruption, my Terpsichore, my one vision of moon maiden
and we dance in a grove in Hell that is sick with roses
bend and turn until we are oblivion, Maiden and Mistress
her beneficence flows in equal measure with her cruelty
and when the orchestra in the reeds hums evening down
we embrace and thirst after tongues and poisoned saliva
I drink her milk and know the sweetness of Styx waters
Lilith is conundrum, the Source, the Deep, the Omega of
all men’s temptations, but she is my sister, so we fly
through Sephiroth up to the outer boundaries and nest
as Zu birds in a cradle in the branches, prey and hunter
find balance as Paradise’s breeze sways our dreams aloft
I am lost in the Queen of Hell, and her lap is my altar
I will praise her and curse her, and when she soars away
I will rage, I will rage, I will rage.

Angels of Prostitution

Naamah, slender-ankled, with bells in your hair
you dance with a cymbal and summon old regents,
they sway to your lilting damnation and wish for
crimson lips and black curls to strangle, tangle.

Agrat bat Mahalath, the Night Howler, you rage
in a cage on a stage, braids like poisonflowers
you are desert storm and sandstone immortality
mistress of burning wind, you cry out for death.

Eiseth Zenumin, pretty cobweb queen, black widow
my end is your comb, fluttering between eyelashes
you pluck butterflies and crunch them, melodious
snap of antennae, monarch pains, birthing pangs.

Lilith Breakneck, queen of all courtesan angels
your throne is Samael’s lap, your whip abortion
infant corpses your throne, a gaze just like stone
I lose myself and perish on your breasts, alone.

Lilith and Eve in a Shadowbox

Lilith’s body is in the branches, her roots
coils of a wooden snake wrapped round Eve
it all starts with a Woman and a Tree, bark
the dark of the Mother of Monster’s skin,
her hair black as rue at midnight, greendark
Eve is always gold, hair brass, skin like sun
she lays like Aphrodite in her bower of grass
body curved in comparison to Lilith’s sharp
collarbone and ribs, Eve’s breasts heave as
Lilith probes her veins, snakes of bones all
tremble as the women join, it is a shadowbox
of two women trapped in each other, and I look
at the past of humanity and demon’s mothers –
Mother of Life, Mother of Abortion, clashing
in this diorama that Samael shows me in dreams
the dead are at the door, the Lilitu and corpse
children of Samael and Lilith, and I am New Eve
barricaded behind a door in a worn library, my
lover my monster, my past trapped behind glass
the Evil Queen sent her brood to bring me back
to her, and the Devil always hands me over to
his Queen, so I just laugh at how desperately
Lilith and Samael cling to a woman who does not
want them, blue languor eyes glance bone skin,
the bruise black Lilitu come, eviscerate me, I
am always breaking for the two of them, spilling
jewel guts for the King and Queen of Hell, and I
gave up asking after Lilith’s lips long ago, how
she is both Mother and Childless, Queen, Pariah –
but the shadowbox my corpse clutches to her breast
tells a different tale, of a simpler time, a quiet
temptation under the shade of an apple tree, with
a snake, a tree, a demoness, and an overcurious girl
who never learns not to kiss enemies who always end
up being the death of her, a sweet death, one that
tastes like the dregs of red wine, my blood fountains
Samael and Lilith both search through my viscera for
answers, but I never give up my secrets, no matter
how many daggers and scythes they dig into me, and
to be honest, I enjoy dying to wake out of dreams,
for at least when the Reaper truly comes, and Black
Madonna of Hell sings a lullaby, I will be all ready
to follow them down into Gehenna, to burn, smolder
and finally learn what drove demons to covet mortals.

Dream Diary: Of Angels and Aliens

I dream I am in an intergalactic battlefield in a  far outpost of space, Samael the leading commander of a legion of demon aliens.  I’m a spy, with a laser gun and sleek gray uniform, and I show no mercy.  My friend is a star-crossed lover with a reptilian alien who is a thinly veiled Lilith, and her skin is poisonous to the touch.  She has long silky black hair, green scales, and is part serpent, with yellow slit eyes.  She is a leading general and their affair is across enemy lines, he the mad scientist that is trying to bridge the gap between man and beast through proteomics.  Zinc oxide forms on a potion he gives me, and the yellow crystals scratch my throat as I drink it, poisoning me only to acclimate my genes to space.  The high is crazy, and as my very proteins and genes shift, I feel the rush of interstellar travel slow to a halt.

Battle comes, and the scientist is dead.  Lilith weeps, and I go to her distraught side, reaching out to comfort her only to have my hands sizzle.  She puts on special gloves so that we can hold hands, watching nuclear bombs decimate a Martian planet, then slips me medicine that will make me able to touch the poison that drips from her skin.

We talk amongst the slain.  We wander.  Soon, we are in love, my assassin girl and I the scout, writing letters, only for her to leap into the range of attack before me and die in my arms, a final kiss our seal.

I wake in the astral in Samael’s room and tell him of my strange dream.  He is reading a paperback mystery.  I ask who the demon was.  He pulls out an old dusty photo album with a picture of serpentine Lilith and I holding hands on a sunset veranda, drinking wine, in days when bitterness did not run between us and I was angel, not human.  I startle at how whole Lilith looks, madness wiped from her face.  We are friends in the picture, and it aligns with recent divination on her I received.  She is my surrogate mother in a way, as Samael’s twin, a friend above all else, and memories of our times together in Heaven flood my mind.  I reel at the sudden influx of sensations – of her soft hands, of silky hair, and I wonder if the slaughter of her children drove her mad, or perhaps eons in Hell, or if she always had seeds of insanity to begin with.

Later that night I am with Michael.  We are in the astral in a breathtaking mix of Greece and London, endless coastline and sparkling blue seas crowned with villas, impeccable statues from Classical mythology, all woven into gardens, with a grand bridge that leads to nowhere.  We fly above through cirrus, and he tells me it is the end of the world.  We get lunch at a French restaurant, just light fare, and my onion soup is perfect.  Tired from our flight and the beauties that persist in the otherworld despite time, I ask who carved the statues.  He hints at Michelangelo, but I don’t press, as mortal’s lives in the afterlife are often quite private.

Michael goes inside to order more wine and I pull out his phone.  For some reason angels and demons are always a few years behind in technology, or perhaps they just like flip phones and clunky computers.  His cell phone has the angelic version of Facebook on it, and I laugh at the thought that angels have a social media network.  Curious, I pull up my profile, then find the phone has settings that let you see into the future.  I go to the year 2020, hesitant, as Michael comes back out, and the page loads:

“Am I happy in the future?” I ask, cautious.

Michael smiles like sunlight on birchwood.  “Extremely so.”

I load a photo of an older me, with longer blonde hair, a bit slimmer as I have shed winter weight.  It is the height of summer, and I am sitting on the porch with my father, who is ecstatic.  I am laughing like a burbling brook, in a flowing blue top and black skirt.

“What’s happening here?” I ask.

Michael eyes the photo, swiping to see the album.  “You just told your father you’re getting married.”

My eyes light.  “To who?”

Michael laughs, taking back his phone.  “I can’t tell you everything, can I?  That at least should be a surprise.  You always snoop around on my laptop or phone while I’m away.  Curiosity will be your downfall, but it is still a virtue, and it will also save you.”

I blush.  “Sorry, I can’t help it, angelic tech is so weird.  I can’t help but wonder how it works, how you can… see into the future.”

Michael looks down at the tides, which have skipping manta rays and coral sands.  “When you remember the future and realize everything is a cycle, that there is no time, then you’ll understand.”

We finish our wine and go walking along the shoreline.  The sun sets.  Gulls cry.  Nymphs and winged Victory cap the moon.

I awake to my alarm, feeling his lips on mine.

Sadako

The girl of ruin hides in the closet corner
black hole eyes and skin white as sour milk
she summons phantasmagories of murder, poison
slipping under my skin as I sleep in sweaty
terrors, screaming as her black hair strangles,
thick tangles of evil, her stench is decaying
roadkill, baking in sun and blood, her teeth
are sharp as a shark’s, and she whispers in a
nail on chalkboard tune, singing madly of her
motley machinations – guts spewing, tongues
lolling, heads rolling, my family succumbs to
Sadako’s supper, she gnaws on bones, sucks blood
a child not past puberty that lures me with ruin
in truth she is an old enemy, and I force myself
awake, but when sleep grips me again, she haunts
the dark spaces of my mind, and no one is safe
when Sadako wants company, and monster girls play.

Lilitu

Lilith Iron-Heart is there at my deathbed
I hang white-necked from the ceiling, and
Samael is a raven, she the circling crow
Queen of Sickbeds, Abortion, and Corpses
Wife to the Demon of my Disease, a pale
hand on Samael’s shoulder, she smiles like
sin rich as flowing blood – the kind that
pours from the daggers she buries in my
mourning dove heart, I used to not fight,
smile through the pain, brush aside all
the times the Evil Queen lowered me into
bubbling volcanoes to turn me from Eve to
her, I take her form in dreams and wake up
repulsed at the starving bitch, waif of
ghosts, rotten through and through, she
has one eye because I tore the other out,
she was angling for my lungs, but instead,
I grabbed the blade, pierced her breast,
tore rue and nightingales from her brains
painted the walls with her gore, it’s all
black as pitch, she is snake-maiden, fire,
Samael’s accomplice and twin, my demons are
co-conspirators, one depression, one mania,
both wretched dregs of wine and roses, now
I wait to kill her dear King Carrion, she
has not bothered me since I ripped apart
snow white perdition and eldritch stench
of rotting apples, serpent eyes, envenomed
witch, twitch of her aorta as I bleed her
dry, dry, dry as deserts, parting Red Seas
to avenge all the terror she has wrought.

You pluck the firebird’s tail, she burns.

Burns down your lies and flies free.

The Kill

The Broken Queen is blood lust moon mad
she reeks of decay, decrepit desperation,
she tries to torment me as usual, widow
spider that lost her brood, but I? I am
the sharp edge of a blade, she dances me
to death’s door, I do not yield, I tango
knives into her skin, I pluck her eyes
clean of their sockets, pinch her heart
and let it convulse in my hands, I rage
against the woman who tries to break me
I rage against the empty jealous hag
who is bone rail hunger, who is crazy
with venom and broken hearts, it feels
so good to crush my enemy, to feel blood
spurt against my manic berserk fingers,
hot and warm like mulled wine, I lick
her gore as her life candle sputters
my omenclad shadow dies, I kill, I kill.

I wake to kill again.