Lamia.

I need no fangs; my crown
Shines enough for the both of us.
I refuse to
Make routine with my mouth,
After what that
Goddess
Made me do, with her sickled conventions that
Dashed my eyes out like
You Herpetophobics crush
My serpent offspring. 

But can I blame you?
Like the original snake, I too
Lack excessive
Muscles and girth; yes,
I can squeeze my way through
Metallic vanes and sloppy
Ennui;
But, neither passing nor being will be
Holy enough for me – like A blithely
Fractured egg, with tiny dashes of black.
And an ebony
Divan, with little blemishes of
Posh ivory saliva.

Am I jealous, Sir?
Or ungrateful even, God?
Lacking in
The sixth holy virtue?
You touched me first, defiled
My venom with some maternal
Riff-raff you call a
Seed.
Well, it hasn’t grown any
Greens for me – it
Hasn’t grown at all. 

Hush love, do not fear, I am
In all my audacity
Queen Gullet and your seer.
I will confiscate my eyes like
A blade from the rock, and
Caress you again and
Again and
Without malevolent
Emotions. 

Oh, woe!
My stomach rumbles like
A thousand delectable kids
Crying in the flames, yes
I’ve always taken mine char-
Grilled to perfection with parental
Neglect.
Three stars for Restaurant Life,
It really is all poultry at the
End of the day. 

And though it is royal ambition to make mate
With my studies And tomes;
All that male blood must have thickened my
Hedonism. And I
Cannot concentrate for hunger
And lack of limb; her
Angry nuptial vows ready
Rivers in my thighs with
Bitter paper-cuts.
And I blame none other but
Lady Lilith herself – like
Myself before that
Bloody operation on the bathroom floor.