Black Arts

And so I feel it happen now,
A wordless stealth without a sound.
I call upon the dread black arts,
As life and I begin to part.
 
With fingers round my amulet,
I pray it sets my spirit free,
And then I dream a last request:
 
That I may rise from afterglow,  
Of your (my love’s) orgasmic flow.
At first will blind and make me numb,
As you still hold me as you cum.
 
You’re torn between as arms hold tight,
Your heart that palpitates this night.
And as you weep, the loss, the weight,
Too soon, unthinkable, our fate!
 
My stilled heartbeat becomes a tomb,
My grasp has loosened, freeing you.
Your stinging asp slips out, head proud,  
And glistens cum, the well endowed.
 
You pause to take the stillness in,
To breathe in deep & sense my Yin.
For miracles of pure heart’s Will,
Fulfillment of your lover’s spill.  
 
Your face buried in the close air,
The tangled mass of sable hair.
For all it’s worth while whispering,
To endless moments lingering.
 
Intangible, empty sockets,
To count minutes like sky rockets.
To bet on the tone of each stroke,
Is losing track & gone for broke.
 
Until the strain becomes too great,
There’s no more time to sit & wait.
You snarl in total disbelief,  
And burrow deeper in your grief,
 
To the bulge  
of my neck  
where you indulge,
 
opening wide
and clamping down  
where a pulse  
once throbbed  
till life was robbed,
 
to sink  
your teeth
and shake your head:
 
come on
come baby
come for me
come to me...
 
And in the  
heavy, uncertain  
silence of the dead
 
A screech,  
a shriek,
a cryyyyy
 
As you lift me tenderly  
from a nursing striped  
tiger pup  
to bring me up  
close by your side  
where I suck as you  
bow over me,
 
and not the only place
we spent the time
and broke the curse  
of its evil crime,
 
revived as the first  
but darker spell,
born anew  
of shifting sands—
my amulet now lying
in your open hands.
 
 
 
 
photo by wheel & cross.