The Dark Lover's Promises
All the promises you made me
On that year of my first bleeding
All those promises have come true.
The power, the darkness, the sex,
The whips, the canes, the chains
The swords, the top hats, the tailcoats
The kohled blue eyes with their pinprick pupils, demanding my soul as prize (and even at the age of ten I knew it, felt it, because I was old enough to believe in such things, that my soul could be snatched, penetrated, claimed, swallowed whole).
So many men you swum through,
So many shapes, so many variations
All lithe and dark dancers, sorcerers, masters
And I only caught a brief glimpse of your true form
When the sleepwalker opened his eyes.
And I slept another two decades.
Yet it took one look, just one look from those same eyes for me to fall
The very moment I was ready.
And you smiled at the irony, soul-devourer, smiled through the face of a man holding a crucifix, yet who had sold his soul.
But that instant, that very instant, I knew it was you, yet I didn't know why you had come to me then.
Perhaps it was because I was bleeding again, this time from the surgeon's knife.
Perhaps it was because I was bleeding again, from a broken heart.
Perhaps it was because I was bleeding again, thinking my life's work was done.
Perhaps it took that triple blood sacrifice to invoke you, like in one of those fairytales where one calls for the mythical beast in a special way at the hour of one's true need.
Yet you're here and it's all that matters.
And I am no longer ashamed of my Romanticism,
No longer ashamed of the darkness of my sexuality,
No longer ashamed of the purple prose in this very love-poem.
With my body you took my shame,
With my soul you took my guilt,
And gave me liberation in turn.
I used to dream of you enfolding me in your black robes, suffused with the scent of rose petals, holding me against your feverish, thin body. I used to dream of your black wings enclosing me, lulling me into sleep. I used to fantasise about being taken over your long black table in your lair, your long hair a curtain of black silk brushing my breasts, your voice the huskiest of growls in my ear as you broke me. I used to dream of your black beard upon my mouth as you took me to your bedchamber in Hades and made love to me for the first time. I used to dream of your cheetah's fangs biting into my neck as you mounted me, your black silk and velvet rough against my back, your noose around my throat.
And I'm shaking as I remember all those men, tears filling my eyes, making the keyboard slippery underneath my fingers. I regress, regress into the child I was, the child who was opened and then closed again, the child who lived even when she wanted to die and waited and writhed in her lusts and her pains and waited.
And now you have come; you have come and split me open like a pomegranate, you have bitten into me, stained your mouth red with blood, oh, all the gods help me--
--I flow into your mouth, liquid, pulsing, warm, alive; so grateful, so grateful. I am become but blood, but tears, but sexual fluids; and into you I flow, flow, flow. And you keep devouring, eternally devouring, eternally taking me, penetrating me, fucking me, enclosing me and swallowing me, inside me and outside of me. Always there, always, I sob hysterically as I cling to your body in ecstasy; for you never left me.
From my first bleeding to my last--
My Lover, my Dark Lover,
You never left me.
2.4.2014
I'm not exactly sure if I'd posted this here when I first wrote it, but I was going through some of my old poetry and prose-poetry and this one was worth posting (or reposting). I feel vulnerable posting it without friendslock, but fuck haters. It needs to come out into the air and the sunlight; even if this was a year ago, this love is too strong and dark and too incandescent in its passion to be suffocated.
On that year of my first bleeding
All those promises have come true.
The power, the darkness, the sex,
The whips, the canes, the chains
The swords, the top hats, the tailcoats
The kohled blue eyes with their pinprick pupils, demanding my soul as prize (and even at the age of ten I knew it, felt it, because I was old enough to believe in such things, that my soul could be snatched, penetrated, claimed, swallowed whole).
So many men you swum through,
So many shapes, so many variations
All lithe and dark dancers, sorcerers, masters
And I only caught a brief glimpse of your true form
When the sleepwalker opened his eyes.
And I slept another two decades.
Yet it took one look, just one look from those same eyes for me to fall
The very moment I was ready.
And you smiled at the irony, soul-devourer, smiled through the face of a man holding a crucifix, yet who had sold his soul.
But that instant, that very instant, I knew it was you, yet I didn't know why you had come to me then.
Perhaps it was because I was bleeding again, this time from the surgeon's knife.
Perhaps it was because I was bleeding again, from a broken heart.
Perhaps it was because I was bleeding again, thinking my life's work was done.
Perhaps it took that triple blood sacrifice to invoke you, like in one of those fairytales where one calls for the mythical beast in a special way at the hour of one's true need.
Yet you're here and it's all that matters.
And I am no longer ashamed of my Romanticism,
No longer ashamed of the darkness of my sexuality,
No longer ashamed of the purple prose in this very love-poem.
With my body you took my shame,
With my soul you took my guilt,
And gave me liberation in turn.
I used to dream of you enfolding me in your black robes, suffused with the scent of rose petals, holding me against your feverish, thin body. I used to dream of your black wings enclosing me, lulling me into sleep. I used to fantasise about being taken over your long black table in your lair, your long hair a curtain of black silk brushing my breasts, your voice the huskiest of growls in my ear as you broke me. I used to dream of your black beard upon my mouth as you took me to your bedchamber in Hades and made love to me for the first time. I used to dream of your cheetah's fangs biting into my neck as you mounted me, your black silk and velvet rough against my back, your noose around my throat.
And I'm shaking as I remember all those men, tears filling my eyes, making the keyboard slippery underneath my fingers. I regress, regress into the child I was, the child who was opened and then closed again, the child who lived even when she wanted to die and waited and writhed in her lusts and her pains and waited.
And now you have come; you have come and split me open like a pomegranate, you have bitten into me, stained your mouth red with blood, oh, all the gods help me--
--I flow into your mouth, liquid, pulsing, warm, alive; so grateful, so grateful. I am become but blood, but tears, but sexual fluids; and into you I flow, flow, flow. And you keep devouring, eternally devouring, eternally taking me, penetrating me, fucking me, enclosing me and swallowing me, inside me and outside of me. Always there, always, I sob hysterically as I cling to your body in ecstasy; for you never left me.
From my first bleeding to my last--
My Lover, my Dark Lover,
You never left me.
2.4.2014
I'm not exactly sure if I'd posted this here when I first wrote it, but I was going through some of my old poetry and prose-poetry and this one was worth posting (or reposting). I feel vulnerable posting it without friendslock, but fuck haters. It needs to come out into the air and the sunlight; even if this was a year ago, this love is too strong and dark and too incandescent in its passion to be suffocated.