Consummatum est
I
As we make love in the distant twilight of time
Your rotting body merges with mine
In an obscene, unholy communion
Of disintegrating flesh.
We are bedecked and decorated
With decaying floral garlands;
Your cracked, white skull, flaunting a cadaverous mask,
Nuzzles my willing mouth, while
Your rapacious, long-tailed talons
Viciously scratch my bleeding, contorted limbs.
We lie here in this deep, filthy grave,
Open to the hard, glittering stars above
Where dying, dust-choked planets
Circle without hope, lost in boundless space.
Here we slowly squirm: writhing and twisting
To honour the damned, and to always, always
Profane the wretched, still-living hordes.
But yes! How we honour the eternal damned!
With our ferocious simulations of ecstasy;
Our desolate, discordant, salacious litanies of hate.
Oh yes! You are my ideal lover,
So fearsome and so ferocious. I love
The slick ooze of blood from under
Your thorn-sharp, cock-eyed tiara.
Yes, you, not any perfidious angel I may have met,
Are my only desire; you the emaciated epitome of dissgust.
You, who say you have delved so deep to
Discover forbidden, secret things beyond understanding.
What a delight! To kiss your haggard, rutted ribs,
To violate your intimate, parted furrow, replete with sores.
II
Now, the failing light bathes this stinking midden
In a sickly, phosphorescent hue
As I stare into your pale, yellow eyes,
And then in abject, obsequious, fawning servility
Close those delicate, bluish lids forever,
Thinking: “Oh, my sister, are you flesh of my flesh?”
Even though you are repulsed by my putrid, foetid breath,
Let me, your swathed prey, feel
Your agonised wrenching contractions,
As you convulse and turn beneath me.
Above, in the dark, on the surface,
Where obelisks and headstones lean askance,
Beneath a leprous moon, obscured by cloud-wracks,
Furtive shapes, semi-human proles, lope
Towards our mildewed sanctuary. Then
They stop, and stooping low, scoop up loose detritus
To throw, in handfuls down onto us as we lie below;
Cascades of muddy filth from toxic spoil-heaps.
Slowly the slurry covers us both; in our bitterness
We are not fit for this, or any, living world.
I want you to let me lick your shivering hole
Please…please let me ruffle your greasy, matted hair
Entwined with fibrous, vermiform horrors.
And then, in my delirium, you will smile at me
With gaping teeth, through broken bleeding lips.
Perhaps your questing, cold and lolling tongue
Will find its way into my eager mouth,
And, as your tumescent palp caresses my neck,
My own body will begin to liquefy, exuding
Viscid, amber globules between your dirty breasts.
Envoi
Now, beneath my trembling hand, the ground, defiled
By our poisonous secretions shifts uneasily as,
Locked in each others arms, wreathed
In threads and webs, we sink down even further;
Down into our sodden, rain-soaked trench, where
The splintered crumbling remains of ancient caskets
(Once resting places for tortured martyrs)
Settle about our soiled and ragged cerements.
So, lewd sister, we shudder in unison at last,
And you whisper: “Please don’t cry, this may be our salvation…”
AC Evans