he, the aether ~ {vi}

  
[iv]   
the sounds ov us are decoupag'd, press'd between the walls   
like last winter's azaleas   
i often summon from the scrapbook ov my 
pentagram'd cunt 
from the back ov my eyes where we lie dirty & graffiti'd,   
the back alley ov love stories; perfum'd with piss & red wine   
spilling from my navel   
  
[iii] 
too long chas'e, hound'd thru the count ov threads   
my arse decor'd by vintage stamps. i have paid your postage   
in fitt'd she's, the fingers ov my madness digress   
carve anew path, fold a questioning ripple; storm stirr'd   
rightfuckingthere   
rightfuckingthere   
rightfuckingthere   
in the waxing moon ov my oleander pale corpse_   
  
[ii] 
worshipp'd a god who kept my skin in a mason jar ov dark rum   
a keepsake   
memories ov flesh pickl'd   
{ô satan} 
we were depravity embodi'd, blood soak'd & fuck stain'd   
& he want'd a macabre reminder, slic'd from the leg   
slung 'round his hip   
  
[i] 
'neath him, rosewater & sin scent'd 
i pray'd   
& died with a giggle