Moony emptiness behind your eyes,

concealed luck, nothing remains, it will pass like the shades of night in the light of the rising sun.

You have whispered, I could not understand what you`ve said. Though in a chamber of my rotting mind I preserved the fragments of a breathed promise.

It does not rain.

It smells as if the clouds have waited. For this moment.

I do not know any more what clouds think. Once I could hear them speaking. You congested my ears. With oaths. And knot. And honey of wasps from the depths of your overgrown soul.

Your naked body littered with wounds of your own war. Deep injuries. The child you was died long ago. A white shade from recollections. Cobwebbed memorys of forlorn houses. You search for it in the bloody flesh of strangers. Sometimes you find it. If it smiles, you ram two scissors deeply into its face.

 

Your knees are red. Inflamed scurf. The subsoil is rough. A carpet from chippings and salt. The winter was rough, wet and cold. And snow melts slowly if hearts are cold.

Now it rains.

Turn your body to the back. In the diying grass of the last summer. Flies, beetles and woodlice millipedes and strawberry spiders. Drops of water on your naked legs. Straggly hair.

You`re bleeding. Your fertile body bleeds an egg from your uterus. I spread your thighs. Water mixes with blood. I recognise that you are not shaved.

Sticky hair. Red, dead grass.

Insects drown in the fizzy blood.

The sky weeps cold waters over your twitching body. You are excited. And waits.

Waits for my hands, lips. My tongue. My mouth.

Turn round.

On your knees

I whisper in the fussing rushing of the rain.

I see it behind your eyes.

Flickering lights like candles inside of a tornado.

Slowly you move. Your hands cling in moist ground.

Whimpering in your blood.

Wet and coldly.

Lying on my back i crawl under your trembling body.

Feed me my love, my fate, my salvation.

Ivy creeps over my arms. Like bloody toothpicks grass bores into my back.

I embrace your thighs.

Slowly I pull down your pelvis. Blood drips onto my face. In my eyes. Your blood. I open my mouth. Pull you further down. My tongue tastes your blood. Enclose my lips on your vagina. I hear you whispering, singing. You sing a nursery rhyme...

 

 

 

I follow the measure of the melody with my tongue.

You open your secret source.

I drink your blood. Yours vaginal fluid.

Your desire. Your lust. Your fear. Your egg.

Rain becomes stronger. Ivy entwines around us, I feel the world penetrate into me. With every sip I melt more with you and the world. Both flows into me. The world becomes softly. Animals of the wood gather. Creep by the undergrowth. Hares consume their own children. Trees change into giants. Stars into suns. Crows land on your back. Eat your skin.

I dive in your blood. Your twitching vagina pumps the life out of you.

I drown into you.

I feel your weight dwindle. Your thighs become soft and thin. Coldly your skin.

You die. I knew it. I know it.

Your scars become to mine.

Your wounds hurt on my skin.

Your fear guzzle into my soul, my heart. The hot sword of fury cuts deeply my innards.

Darkness surrounds me like a black sheet. Your song has fallen silent.

I don`t hear you anymore.

I don`t feel you anymore.

It doesn`t rain anymore.

My hands embrace the empty space.

 

With far open eyes I stare in the darkness. Ignes fatui dancin in front of my eyes.

Ivy covers me. Ants build a hill on my face. The wood takes me up in itself.

 

In my stomach sleeps your egg.

It is your child. It is my child.

We are this child.

I also die.

Out of my rotting flesh it will arise.

It will not remember.

One will tell it to him, however, it will not believe.

It will seek.

For eternal salvation. Nevertheless, it will find no redemption.

And one day it will kill itself.

 

With the sword

which once

was yours.

 

 

 

 

©wortflorist