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[dearladyhyacinth]

[dearladyhyacinth]

The Ideal Of Aphrodite

O’ Sweet Mother, save me-

Slender Aphrodite has overcome me with longing,

Burning, yearning, an endless calling

For the figure she holds - held in marble-stone:

Lithesome and limber, thin and fragile 

The fickle, fleeting form of ‘fem’.  

O’ sweet Aphrodite, save me- Deliver me from you, for why is your beauty so

For I look into the reflective pond, a moonlit slither of silver sat by the shower-stream, and I see:

Large and languid, foul and fat

Fetid, fleshy and far from the form of ‘fem’.

O’ sweet pond, save me-

The weight burdens heavy upon me

As the stream spits stones, shattering the

Same old bones, I say: Lash and lop, form and fashion

Fawn to find - the fervent form of ‘fem.’ 

[dearladyhyacinth]

Written Out

Like picking pears betwixt pricks, pushing

Past surface, pull up petals, piercing

Plucking a piece, a part

An idea-coated dart

To press upon the page.

An Opuntia-esque Opportunity Options, fruiting and flowering

Just to wither out once more Not green but scarlet

Gashing from a wound 

As we reach unto ourselves

Laying shards upon the page Words are a fickle thing

Find me, fucked by phantoms 

A laugh from the past behind

My eyes grow weary

Laying guts upon the page.

[dearladyhyacinth]

A Feast; A Eulogy

The hall’s been leased, a feast! A ballad for the deceased

Let loose the beast

Have speak the priest And set the meat! Eulogy by consumption Meat of a strange production Lays set for the luncheon

A dastardly corruption

Of real, true function.

A woman sits in a far position Of the dead; an apparition Clutching her affliction Strung like crucifixion 

All the result of tradition:

Consumed into submission.

[dearladyhyacinth]

Fetid Fecundity 

Choke me, pinned down, squirming Like a dying insect.

Spit your toxic ichor, push your rot Into me, you come to

Mark my pox-marked flesh

With your name, coming out in

Hushed whispers of tiny things

Eating into me.

They sink so deep 

Into my soft flesh

Brain turned to a hive

Where the thoughts are many legged

Each pulse a bite from your infection.

I wish to feed, on your disease

I crave the rotten cure

You provide.

I need your penicillin

The purifying impurity

I require your sickly sweet

Surgery, silencing the

Many crawling things

When we are intertwined.

[dearladyhyacinth]

Funhouse Mirror

What is a face?

Atop your skull, a disgrace

A waste of space you cannot embrace 

Leading you through a place In your mind

What is there to find?

Who is there to find?

Would it be so unkind

To say the face you hide

In the mirror,

No more clearer,

Is mine?

[dearladyhyacinth]

Butcher’s Invitation

Wrapped in butcher’s twine, Dejected: they intertwine A captive audience To the Butcher’s mind

As it speaks, a lullaby: ’Let the meat rest

Soundly in the meadow’s breast

Let it count mutton, lamb: So called ‘Sheep’

There it may sleep.

In the field where corpses 

Grow in petals

Darling meadows

Where she can die.’ 

She fights, biting at the twine

She will not lay, not let the butcher dine She refuses to yield Though all the signs she is given

Say, tomorrow is another dayAnd she’ll live to see it

[dearladyhyacinth]

Mourning

Missing, gone to a foreign land

Understand there is not but pictures to 

Remember his face, his smile, his humour Details that granted her peace

Estranged from her now. Remembering his body next to hers 

Empty space in her bed Dead air at the dining table.

[dearladyhyacinth]

Requiem For A Man

I hate my flesh Thus within, a desire runs wild

To slash, to be defiled

To cleave away the bloated carrion in the mirror. O, to rid myself of this

Mangled motley of meats Rip to reveal The pink of guts, the blue of veins

And last, the pale purity of bone.

Glassy eyes stare back

Like roadkill, long gone

The coyotes come to feed

On the flesh, on the fear

Of a form splayed out

In unholy openness

Remains, not to be seen.

I crave to be consumable

Digestible for one and all so

Pluck my teeth out, sew me shut

Leave a wound, pink and gaping to

Fill with the warm pearl white

Of teeth tearing through me.

[dearladyhyacinth]

Doves

Like a dove Dead on the ground:

Purity spread wide with a bloody gash

An axe’s slice between soft pale Flesh like her heart, throbbing Buried in her ribcage eagerly

The surgeon sucks the wound

To pull the venom out.

Her lips a cherry bomb bursting Into flames 

Which lick gently Deflowering fields with wildfire Burning with passionate abandon. Divinity aches in the skin, the purest 

Ivory teeth cut it free

Along the wrist and the thigh Sanguine spirit pouring

Like red wine from The nymph’s lips. Tension building

Like gas below a corpse’s skin And thus comes sickly Sweet relief, sweet release The purest putrefaction

Fecund and foul as 

The body bursts.

[dearladyhyacinth]

Heart-shaped Coffin 

Her face as soft as mud

After the rain comes Washing away hope, choking With mud rising 

Tightening in my throat.

Her laugh makes the world close in 

Brought towards the pit

In my stomach.

Her skin like cherry wood 

Eyes like hinges, rusted shut: She is a coffin, trapping me in 

The earth’s cold embrace. 

I fear to go too fast,

To squirm out much too soon As her smile 

Takes my breath away.

[dearladyhyacinth]

Pulmonary Hymn

Cough up rose petals, Catching Thorns inside creating crimson Paint on her lips as jowls redden A beauty laid in peace. 

That flattering malady Macerating to a masterpiece, her

Orchids fade as her roses come in

White lilies ‘round her bed

Like a halo on her head. As the plants in winter She falters, faded - thinning

Sweet, subtle decay. Passing placid, pale and

Painted on a plaque, the

Picture of beauty: Buried.