The Kingdom of Set

Desert Lord I may be

But far from desolate...
Sand runs through my fingers
And behold, a treasure of kings
Garnets and quartz
And the bones of living creatures
From before time was measured
Their voices carried upon the wind,
These are my subjects.
A Lord alone I may be
But far from brooding
For it is my blood that feeds this place
Cast out dry and crystalline red
And when my hand raises the storm
The tempest of my passion
Will devour you
Wave upon burning wave
All your glories, all you are,
Ground to dust
Disintegrated into jeweled fragments
To glitter against my russet skin
All your vanities -
Clutched here, in the palm of my hand.

Damocles

Precious
like a single golden thread
blonde hair twined in my fingers
torn in the clutch of passion
perilous as it may be
divided for love's sake
this is my own sword
my own force invoked
and I may fall on upon it
but I am better for the cleaving
and still better for the cleaving
I regret nothing
for I am clean wounded
and warm blooded at last

Lest I die, Unshriven

I have imperiled my immortal soul in your name

I have imagined your eyes, abyss-black with desire
I have delighted in the thought of your absolute corruption
I have dwelt on violence, envisioned you shocked and colorless
I have toyed with obsession, seen repeating patterns in your every gesture
I have felt myself slipping, and cursed myself for not letting go
I have been unappreciative, petty and trifling with your affection
I have let myself become enthralled by my own despair
I have screamed and raved to incorporeal spirits about you
I have laid tricks in your path, stolen tokens and worked charms against you
I have undone all my good works for one fleeting moment, here and now
I have dreamed of you every night in the dark oblivion before the dawn
I have craved you as a succubus that comes to me, all consuming, as is in your nature
I have truly adored you and all that you are, your heretical divinity
I have cherished each breath you take and the trip-hammer of your heartbeat
I have never meant to distress you, but I cannot apologize for the way I am
Lest I die, unshriven
I request absolution
The calm that comes from the heat of your proximity
The forgiveness that comes with the brush of your hand

My demons are quelled by your momentary trespass
I step back from the brittle edge, unbroken again

Ode to a Dis-eased Spirit

I remember you, always
beloved geisteskrank
holding your face in my hands,
my opal eyed beauty,
your lips to kiss, cool and soft as night

but how often i would find you
brooding and preening
or flouncing off into shadows
or pouting in darkness
like the petulant dead

and years that pass into memory -
now I drink flat tea from chipped cups
with absent guests
that leave red lined calling cards
etched on my pale skin

here among the living
as you are, but are not and will never be
one step between you have always been
and I the medium, poor at my trade
can never again call you to rise