slender fingers outstretched,
palms upturned,
your wounds are your stigmata,
an unholy ecstasy.

alabaster skin stained red,
sheets soaked in sweat,
hair plastered to your face.
how can agony be so beautiful?

surrounded in filth you are an angel
fallen to earth,
fallen to the gutter,
fallen into sin.

have you returned to your heavenly home?
i think i can hear your sigh
as you are welcomed to salvation.
the smell of your blood makes me puke.

come to me, all you who weep,
and lay your body down.
your tears shall nourish flowers which
spring forth from barren ground.

confess to me your sins and then,
as gentle as the dawn,
let mine arms your comfort be
and ease your mind forlorn.

for i have endless love for you,
my sweet misguided one.
forgiven shall your trespass be -
your weeping days are done.

the moon says to me
"you are mine
come with me
come far away"

but i go with you
to sit on the chalky cliffs
inhaling the salt spray
sharing *****
and bodies

in the rotunda we sit
gazing at flowers
your fingers entwine in mine
your breath takes my kiss away

the moon says to me
"come far away"
so i go

and though i leave you
you must not forget
our kiss in the dreamhouse

cold and alone i am
bruised
where you touched me.
bees crawl my skin
and burrow down
to my sorrowful heart.

magnolias, crushed underfoot -
this was once a happy place -
but all that remains is
the stench of your lust.

i think my limbs were snapped
by your
sheer force
as you claimed my innocence
as i cried out to a god i don't believe in.

ghosts walk these gardens:
ghosts of the children
you leave broken
amongst the trampled magnolias.

i start,
gasping for air,
choking back sobs.
but this is not a dream.

i watch him
as he inspects the rose held in his long fingers
and i realise for the first time
how fragile he is.

there are dark shadows beneath his eyes
and bruises on his milky skin
from my tight grip on his hips when we last made love.
his lips are still bruised from my kisses.

sometimes he seems to
struggle breathing
but i can't tell if it's the illness
or exhaustion.

at night he whispers to me
as he kisses the pads of my fingers
as he strokes my chest
as he takes me in his hot mouth

his eyes say
"i love you".
with each breath he is
dying.

flies trapped in honey
narcissus drowning
sweating in your hospital bed

milk in your veins
adonis dying
electrodes to your head

morphine dreams
hyacinthus bleeding
bang bang, you’re dead

he stands outside the church in the snow.
sir, he says,
have you ever been touched by an angel?
have you drunk the nectar of the gods,
have you prayed at the altar of cherubim?

and cherub he is, all golden curls and rosy cheeks.
surely a beauty such as this is sent from above.
yes, you think,
the Lord has chosen me alone to receive His holy ecstasy.

so you follow through those grimy streets,
song of songs in your head, psalms dripping from your lips.
his touch is light, his voice is sweet,
and truly this must be Heaven.

Heaven is silken sheets and soft sighs.
Heaven is limbs entwined, words hushed and the room dark.
Heaven is a hand at your throat, the kiss of a knife,
oh, it is Heaven to die for Him.

he returns to the church to stand in the snow,
his pockets heavy but his heart light.
some say he sold his soul for the coin,
but I think he lost it a long, long time ago.

angels weep upon thy feet
thou body posed as if in sleep

kisses raining on thy face
forever in eternal grace

blood of father, spirit and son
drink of the eternal one

holy mother, purest flower
save us in our darkest hour

forgive my sin, forgive my lies
as i lay me down to die

you sit sullenly at the window
casting a perfect
moonlight silhouette
on the floor

your silken curls
graze your neck
and your long fingers
are folded neatly in your lap

would you break
like alabaster
if in a fit of passion
i lost all abandon?

and would you sacrifice yourself
for my sins
child of david, my lamb
like a statue of alabaster?