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Image for the poem red nails

red nails

she has red nails      
she drags them like scythes across my back      
in the gales of our human storm      
     
we hurry songs of the present, when the future is bleak      
I don’t speak. my body invokes its own foreign language      
she translates, and discovers a fiery star in obsidian carnage      
     
with her red red mouth, she preaches that pain is pleasure.
the bites she bestows upon my shoulders are the blessings
of lecherous gods, fashioning bliss from rose-thorns, prescribing
sexual abandon as the cure for mediocrity
     
as I lick the aqueous substance from her skin, I imagine      
Christ engaging his magic, rearranging molecules,      
changing her sweat droplets into redeeming wine      
     
should the Archangel entreat us now      
we would gladly soar with him on our own wings      
to the mansions of a rain forest paradise    
     
and if I die in this dream      
they can seal my coffin      
with red nails

 
Written by JohnFeddeler
Published | Edited 27th Sep 2015
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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