Bird

Jun. 26th, 2022 11:21 pm
dulcedemon: Molten sugar for candy making. (Default)


Dizziness,
and from behind,
a hand on my shoulder,
hot breath on my neck,
blood rushes,
my ears buzz,
gripping each other tight,
--we sync--
a wellspring of energy,
a cascade of golden sparks
from root to throat
flying from our mouths
into the sky
where it traces the outline of an enormous bird.

dulcedemon: Molten sugar for candy making. (Default)


Debauched and careening,
a faint whiff of Rome ablaze,
I thought it would be taller,
grander,
but there is no fight left in it.
Its principles have been hollowed.
Its resources have been squandered.
Its grandeur has been raped.
There was a dream,
but the young don't remember it,
and the old are too tired to care,
numbed and worn down,
the daily fascistic media bombardment skull-fuck,
rootless and tumbling,
we scream at the walls,
at each other,
into the void,
denying the body,
yet craving the flesh,
because no one makes love anymore,
and our nation is a masochist.

Hindmost

May. 4th, 2020 03:22 am
dulcedemon: Molten sugar for candy making. (Default)

Straps, knots, and clasps...
Though I'm bound,
I'm not obliged.
The hand that guides is the hand that reins.

(Reigns?)

Push me deeper.
Let the waves pull me under.
Strike a rhythm that breathes from the root.

Split me with sound.
Split me with light.
Split me with your third leg.

When I bow from pleasure
or bend from pain,
it looks the same,
but what a noise!

dulcedemon: Molten sugar for candy making. (Default)


We hesitate at the water's edge
so dark,
and so still.
Fear lurks in our hearts.
We hold our breath
before taking the plunge.
The danger is real,
not imagined,
not anymore.



Doing the nod,
enveloped in a blue haze,
more numbed than pleasured,
we dream,
we lust,
we yearn for freedom,
we yearn to know,
and to be known.



Body and spirit intertwine,
pressing flesh,
pressing wills,
a watery tryst,
so deep,
it drowns a nation.

Kaftan

Jan. 30th, 2020 11:48 pm
dulcedemon: close-up of tarnish on a decorative brass plate (tarnish)


It wrapped around me like a cloak,
their scent,
now a clinging memory,
sour roses,
sanctity,
and smoke.

So beautiful,
so pure,
and full of grace!
I felt such shame.
I wanted to weep.

October 2025

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