Beltane

I am sharpening my knife
beware of me
while you joke
my knife grows sharper
"All Irish are royal", you say
"There must have been three peasants on time share"
It is funny, your joke, but it is dangerous

I come from a long line of practical people
women who weren't afraid to stand up
take the blow and return it full measure
Soon They will make the sacred marriage
and the point of orgasm will make Him vulnerable
She will strike Him down, murder Him for his potent seed
Beware my sharp knife
my ancestor's blood is not yet thin
and the warrior-king lives only to die.

My knife grows sharper
My knife grows sharper
My knife is ready
for you.

Move In Passion

I imagine seducing you
being the modern courtesan I have been compared to
by other men less skilled in the trade of death.

I imagine your lean frame intertwined with my softer form
both of us drunk on the scents of
sex and steel.

I imagine taunting you
my voice low, husky, unlike the voice I really own
watching you crumble inside
relishing your destruction.

I imagine you as wiser than you are
a gentleman killer who wipes his sword on a linen handkerchief
and is coldly polite to his victims
my victim now but no gentleman.

My fantasies coexist with reality
but only tenuously, wispy frail, substance shy
I have invented you from whole cloth
and can not imagine why I would want you.

In life you are crude, a caricture of my courtly destroyer
and I am no artist of debauchery
I am plain-spoken and ill-equipped to conquer even so low a man.

But in my dreams you are dashing
in my dreams I am elegant
in my dreams we cut a swathe through the world
dancing dangerously on the knife's blade
lapping up the blood and relishing the poisoned kiss.

In my dreams we are a fine couple
well-suited, slaying one another
into infinity.