The soul, fortunately, has an interpreter -- often an unconscious, but still a truthful interpreter -- in the eye. - Charlotte Bronte
thursday morning
rebirth
yourself
on
my living room floor
foetal
gestures
shed
origins of sin
not
made on your behalf
you've
found the muse
behind
the succubus
the
siren
in
the muse
your
passivity unnerves me
as
clumsy hands sweep aside
your
tattered caul
of
lyric and poetry
and
you shiver
stripped
tired
and
with one evocative question
what
happens
now
Mare Australe
This is where I come
when I don’t want
to remember who you are,
or what you did to me.
This is where I find
the cold heart that exists
beneath your alabaster
flesh,
the precise icy wind that
evokes your magic touch
and awakens priapic intent.
And here is where I slumber
when the madness threatens
to engulf me, the calmness
of your cool arms
grants me the only peace
I’ve ever known.
© 2021 marie c lecrivain
Marie C Lecrivain is a poet, publisher, and ordained priestess in the Ecclesia Gnostica Catholica, the ecclesiastical arm of Ordo Templi Orientis. Her work has been published in California Quarterly, Chiron Review, Gargoyle, Nonbinary Review, Orbis, Pirene's Fountain, and many other journals. She's the author of several books of poetry and fiction, and recent editor of Gondal Heights: A Bronte Tribute Anthology (copyright 2019 Sybaritic Press, www.sybpress.com).
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