You Luscious Sin

1

A mist from off the lusty sea—

The smoke escapes the pores of thee.

Judgmental? Am I not to damn?—

But revel in this hologram.

I bewitched—I, expelled

By a martyr deep in hell.

And up from out the stagnant sea

Climbs an opiate stench of ecstasy:

Inclined to rise, inclined to fall—

Inclined to linger most of all.

2

Feared and veiled you are no more,

Your naked flesh adorns my floor.

A silky serpent cradles sin,

And glides upon your moistened skin.

Each timid glance—its own abyss.

The serum rumbles on to bliss.

(A constant stroke of loneliness.)

3

Behold the morning—behold us numb,

The sweetness of our laudanum.

A slovenly bastard—distinctly cruel—

This medicine that soothes my soul.

A bottle of the bright sunshine,

Or a tincture full of turpentine

(Either way, I won’t repine—

Make dead my wits, make dead my mind).

4

A sauna centered in the cold,

A winter garden—green and bold.

Sapient, majestic eyes—

Beholding me in raw despise

5

Me—the scourge of pestilence,

But your kiss would do me reverence.

My hearing lost as I grow blind,

No paladin can save my mind.

Lost! Lost! Lost, and I repent!

You, overall, are eminent.

Death—now come that old regime—

By a seller’s market of the new machine

This social standard—set, default.

It sprays the mist from every vault.

6

I breathe the smoke from every lung,

And suck the sin from every tongue.

Like a stitched heathen on his knees

I germinate this new disease.

The smoke—it rises endlessly.

It is my virtuosity.

My palette here—I sketch the fire.

To indulge in her—I know desire.

7

The mist perspires, and then it clears;

Some dealer feeds upon our fears.

This friendship falls from broken trust.

An asylum rises from the dust.

A forecast here of judgment day—

A time when you will turn away.

8

Oh, raucous pilot of the sea,

Know you none resort for peace?

Know you none a palace bright,

Where I may rest without such plight?

Know you none a peaceful ride

To free my fears of genocide?

Know you none a love like I?

For her—I would so gladly die.

Know you none a pain like mine?

Bittersweet—like early wine.

(My love for her—a love untold,

Priceless more than diamonds—

Priceless beyond gold.)

9

But a light, afar, comes quite near.

In the darkness—please adhere!

A splendid spectrum—thrice divine—

Brilliant strands of pure sunshine.

A flower opened—revealed in bliss.

A diamond tongue—a golden kiss.

(Exhale on me such regalness!)

10

Oh brilliant light—inhale me!

Ascend me over this debris.

From this hindrance set me free.

To float back in the opiate sea.

(And stir the waters of this sea,

So stagnant tides no more may be!)

11

Alas, no peace is in the air.

The locusts strip the harvest bare.

You! You lay me down to rest!

Despair erupts within this breast.

Of love, I fear, I may be hexed,

Tantalized, and more perplexed.

And still, to you I fear I’m bound—

Beneath your feet—this shifting ground.

I see—now upon the bow,

The locusts own the harvest now.

12

But a mystic odor owns the breeze,

And I dance amid the poppy seeds.

These stretching fields of poppy seeds—

They comfort me as my heart bleeds.

You can join the new regime—

This cult of abnormality,

Aghast with sexuality—

The whores, and I, and poppy seeds.

13

Do you still know of passion’s fire?

Of silky tongues? Of soft desire?

Of the hindrance that I’ve come to be?

Oh, please! Oh, please reconcile me!

Long—long—long I do rest,

To know the mercy of your breast.

Though, sorrow laden, I see no loss;

And will likely slay the albatross.

(Oh, what fun it will be to brave that cross!)

14

We fumigate the sacred seed

Without the aptitude to breed.

This metastasis sets you free

While engulfing what is left of me.

To fulminate in luscious sin—

Consumed by that which might have been.

(What might have—none the less, is sin.)

15

Essentials, now, become but few.

I ravage all, but thoughts of you.

Yet in solace I claim I’m bold,

So no longer must I face the cold.

Still taste, I do—the opiate haze,

A pariah longing better days.

And still I feel that I am man,

Yet a demon in some hologram.

This I know that I’ve become—

What love, no more, can overcome.

Estranged beneath the dismal sun—

A marvel hung for everyone.

(A marvel of the ebony sun.)

16

Suggestive are your softest words,

But abrasive is the silent curse.

Rhythmic once, but now refined.

Light! Light! Light see me blind!

Render me my final might.

Rage! Rage you brilliant light!

You splendid rays of pure sunshine—

Polished, suave, and so benign.

Like simple notions—those are yours—

The peace within the brashest wars.

A view of light and mystery—

To rage with passion! Set me free!

From day to day—routines of lust

That opiate dew, that silver dust.

Speak no more, but with your eyes.

Rage! Rage! Rage that I may rise!

(Finally free from love’s despise.)

17

Anesthesia, kinesthesia—either way I’m numb.

Too tired to taste the bitterness of love—it’s sour crumbs.

Too weary to indulge so deep—so deep of deadly sin.

Too scornful now to know this love—this love that might have been

So sour the tongue that I did taste—from whence I stole a kiss.

Too stoned to fear the heat that swells in Lucifer’s abyss.

No parasitic passion would I dare this tongue to touch.

Reduced, by now, to sodomy—from peasantry to plush.

18

Dark! Dark! Dark the sunlight grows!

Where it will sojourn—no one seems to know.

Why? Why? Why this jubilee?

This novelty? This fantasy?

Like sounds of spring—resounding clear—

The fire—the love. The fear! The fear!

Why? Why? Why must I be damned?—

Jailed by your controlled demands.

Why? Oh why am I no more

A friend you covet, just like before?

Why prevaricate from me?

Does misalliance frighten thee?

And are we bound by silent sins

To only speak of “could have beens?”

Is there a place—a place that I…

At last! At last, might shut my eyes?!—

To block out this atrocity—

To break from this infirmary?

19

Is there balm in Gilead?—

That I may know—and may be glad?

20

So at this banquet we inhale

An opiate fragrance—growing stale.

The more of which we do partake,

The more—our love—we shall forsake.

So, consequently we display

A love that slowly dies away.

A fading love—out in the wind.

A silky dream—a luscious sin…

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