Dutch white lace draped over the ivory long table in a seraphic quilting,
A Gawain teacup, embellished with gossamer Eustoma, sat, awaiting,

Diaphanous beads of the chandelier glistened above the lone, ceramic plate in quietude,
A tender marigold light gorged the room, as a sweet ambrosia replaced the solitude,

The Lush curtains lapped, picking up dusks gentle zephyr from behind me,
Opened oak and a soft wheeling dusting away my momentary reverie.

Trays of glimmering cloches, were carefully escorted into the room,
All adorned with silken pink ribbons, delicate as spring bloom.

I pulled out the cotton sewn chair, settling atop its the feathered doily pillow,
And rested upon the cushion, the double doors shut with a slam and a billow.

Before me, sat one of the decorated cloches, sliver like a frozen over nebulous,
I removed the reflective veil with the careful touch of folding an origami pond lotus.

Painted over in a mellow coddle of buttercream, was a layered strawberry cake,
Smiling flash at the saccharine smell, I cut into it, only to hear a trickling sibilance like a snake,

Once warm light had begun to frantically holler and splash around the room in a bleary dim haze,
Like a lagoon's catharsis, the chandelier rung out and submerged the dining hall in a flickering glaze,

During the jolting flashes, I raise the fork to my lips,
The cutlery quivering slightly under the padding of my fingertips,

Cradled by my tongue, the sponge decompounded bitterly in my jaw,
I couldn't place it, but it just tasted so overwhelmingly metallic and raw,

Shadows and honey glows, rebounding, back and fourth, playing like hungry hounds,
Staining the walls like crushed stars, over and over like a vehement clever without bounds,

As the night fed, and the chandelier flickered, I kept gulfing coppery forkfuls of food,
Sludge in my throat, wet and warm liquid slathered my gums, thickened and crude,

The rhythmic pulsing of the room, betrothed to the flavour swelling inside me,
It's taste fossilised between my gums, still, I parted my lips, welcoming it, voluntarily,

I don't know how long had passed, but the lights convulsions ceased,
Leaving the ripe gleam of the chandelier quiet and leashed,

Now before me, I could see the latter of my impulsive, gluttonous panic,
Sprawled like a burning body, a bloodied matter of fondant was slumped over the ceramic,

Like a gored lambs underbelly the feast was rich with innards and breathing with blackened bile,
Trickling down, wallowing on my chin was a stewed crimson trail, dying a patchy smile,

So I just sat there, a cup spilled at my side, spewing a tristful poison,
In quiet reflection, just me, me and the vestige of what I have done.

Baby's breath kisses the merlot tide of disease,
A brindled sea holds the white orchid of blanched dittany's.

Moonflowers scintillate with each cradle of dusk,
While Stars marl the sky, veiling over in cosmic musk.

During quietude, swans tread the ichor in a pearlesque flotilla,
The poison ripples beneath them as they thread between silk lilies and ivory scilla.

The gore strewn water continues to fester with pulsating, ripe, bile,
Despite all, the huddle of infancy will remain ever fertile.

I felt the sting of nightshade bubble up inside me,
Once more, I cough up the bloodied Solanaceae.

Purged into my lap, budding with flesh,
Pallid petals ripe with Persian plum mottle, gored and fresh.

Racking my body in waves of herbaceous excruciation,
Crawling up my throat, clawing in botanical mutilation.

Lain out on the creased stone,
My macabre of a garden is blotted with the watercolour of my own.

Weary from retching, I stare at my withering ***** with distain,
I shrivel internally at the burden of mopping each and every stewed stain.

But I know I must clean the mess I've forged,
Because its nobody apart from me, who impulsively gorged.

The deer lies dead in snowdrops,
Naked and gored before the Copse,
Webbed innards, cradled by ghost petals,
Stewed infancy held close by Lamium nettles,

A gutted riffle wallows nearby,
An empty barrel, gunpowder palpable upon the sky,
Coughed up bullets, lain out in velvet grass,
Reeking of ripe saline, flesh and bloodied brass,

Rotted fawn rests, asleep in the forest,
Dried tears bleach her coat in premature rest,
Supple life bitterly sprawled in a crimson cruel quilting,
Embraced by lapping bellflowers, Hugged by only the wilting.

Baby boy!
Pretty little thing,
your flesh
is So divine!
Oh yeah,
that's right;
I like to watch it -
i like to watch your flesh:
subcutaneous fat
padding tender hips
Shifting on a creaky framework of bones.
So beautiful,
so divine,
so delicious -
I will have you for my own, Straight Boy,
I will eat you,
piece
by
Piece.
First,
your liver,
then,
your Brain,
and finally,
I will devour your confused little heart;
I will bite through the muscle;
and you will watch on
as Blood that pumped
through a brain that pushed away thoughts of hesitant homoeroticism,
and a ***** that rose
For me - INCUBUS!!! -
dribbles down my chin...
lifeless!