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Slinging tuneage like some fried or otherwise soused short-order cook
Slinging tuneage like some fried or otherwise soused short-order cook
06 August 2008
Before You Slip Into Unconsciousness
Deep beneath the scream
the rush of basso profundo sub-sonics
the true voice of fear
heavy & cloying as a smell
electrifying each gonadal hair.
The hairs
in secret somatic sensualism
mimic a gentle gloved hand
& stroke to ultimate tumescence
like no human hand can do.
The play of light & shadow
on the slowly pooling blood
paints the most intense masterpiece
in strokes of black & red.
Deep beneath the harvest moon
knife shadows rise & fall.
The head upturns toward the skies.
The mighty mane blows in the wind.
A hellhound howl parts crimson lips;
the prey is conquered
& lifeforce slakes a burning thirst,
intoxicates as finest Bourbon
& fires the depths of these immortal veins
like no spring wine can do.
The reflection from the surface
of the mirror pool of blood
catches the face of an angel
seen in the eyes of a darker god.
NØ
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