|
Sister midnight comes blaspheming |
|
Screaming in the keys of faith and fear |
|
Unentwining our spines twists me to kneeling... |
|
Spilling like the moonlight on her glistening rear |
|
Defiled at heart |
|
In this perfect hell |
|
Under red leaves bleeding |
|
Over scaled chateau we fell |
|
To demonocracy |
|
Where neither Adam or Eve |
|
Conceived of such iniquities |
|
From pleasure or pain |
|
Or the razor's edge inbetween |
|
Thou art my seventh heaven burning |
|
Going down as with the sun... |
|
Within like a river fluids moves a torrent |
|
Bound to please |
|
On denierred knees |
|
In any wicked way |
|
That her whims may warrant |
|
I hang on every verb |
|
Every dirty word |
|
Interred |
|
In her pornoglossa... |
|
Christlike, whipped and weak |
|
Painted nails driven through the meek |
|
Yet in obituary |
|
My dreams still weep |
|
Of dark blood and fucking thee |
|
Thou art seventh heaven burning |
|
Going down as with the day |
|
Baring lunar curvature |
|
Like canvas for a lick of pain |
|
Writhing like a viper |
|
Deep inside her Eden |
|
Forbidden to eat |
|
I kiss leylines to her feet |
|
Then baiting wrath |
|
I steal a path |
|
Back to the fruits of her womb |
|
Back to the crack of her tomb... |
|
Her roseate sliver |
|
Quivers with snuff appeal |
|
The torque of her hips |
|
Lip-sync me in for the kill |
|
Tongue-tied, tightrope and spread like disease |
|
I drain the cup of this Miss Sire |
|
Her water into wine for me |
|
Thou art my seventh angel squirming |
|
'Neath the forked tongue of the beast |
|
Arching toward the fabled |
|
Like a sculptured nymph seeking base relief... |
|
Whilst the world outside |
|
(A wood of suicide) |
|
Would die for this release |
|
Our slow orgasmic fuses greet... |
|
By night and by candle |
|
At each other's throat |
|
In a slick drift of red |
|
Setting god's teeth on edge |
|
We were as wolves preying inside the fold |
|
Of a slaughtered lamb throw |
|
On a four poster bed... |
|
Succulent, Succubus |
|
Laid without rest |
|
In the dead of the night |
|
Succulent, Succubus |
|
In thy arms |
|
And thy wetness |
|
On glossed lips I taste |
|
Conspiracies, secrecies, sorceries laced |
|
With thick unguent rum |
|
Black-rayed suns and Autumn |
|
Always in season for our nightfall from grace |
|
Gorge upon my seed |
|
Starved Persephone |
|
Succulent, Succubus |
|
Succor me |
|
That I might keep |
|
Thee with me in Hades |
|
Succulent, Succubus |
|
Succor me |
