T h e C r o n e
When the moon is dark,
Slabs of meat trail in the dead of night.
This carcass of once firm flesh
Burns under the torch of a thousand suns
and a handful of my lovers kisses.
I bite my lip in anticipation
For those wet lips,
Which
Plant disdain between my thighs,
Which
Have aged me.
Which
I curse.
When the moon is full,
I will rise.
Call in the hem of my raising skirt
With no patience of the shrinking violet,
No waiting whatsoever
I will mount my lovers upon my heaven :
My celestial cunt
For the rancid seed
The fountain of eternal youth jetting up and
Raining down on my witches as they dance
And the dogs howl
And the snakes hiss
And my spirit groans
And my lovers laugh
And they do it again
And again
And again
Until the sun comes up
And the light of day unveils my aged face,
My sagging skin.
I laugh under my breath
with the first rays of sun drying my skirt