Democrat, Illinois - The ElectroLounge

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“What purpose?” I cry again to the
Beast as he urges me nearer, we share
our sweet prize now, enough & more.
“Nothing salves the closest wounds,” our
prize thrashes & sighs. “Happiness lies
in loving the cage, endless singing its song.”
She cries out from the deepest star
within her dream-torso, whole & hungry,
the Beast licks as I stroke, her singing
now louder, the temple of moonlight
roars & shakes all the secret worlds within.
We let her go slowly, softly, to what remains
of her by daylight, an old vessel damned
to finally go, like faith, a cringing lash at a time.
“To what purpose?” I whisper to the Beast,
as we haunt & howl these nocturnal
caverns & corridors. “Little but blood &
consequence,” he replies & the old bones
tearing & framing his chest seem nearer
to burst. “Stray planks on a wide foam,”
he continues. “Tonight an old village is burning.
“Everything goes.”
Her death is long in the old house,
her memories a fine thing of love
& delusion. She watches her life in
reverse, regains the legs he would kiss
& say strode through his heart & made it
strong, the maiden’s hips they would
ride when the scarlet hour was theirs to share.
“Many books, tender hours, & compassion,”
she whispers through her sick blood to
those who tend her like an old carcass.
The cold room bleats of a code, a key,
sad endless war. The Beast comes to warm
it in music, in memory, how once
she undressed half-turning, smiling, slowly,
as her new lover writhed & fed on
how her flesh prayed the light.
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