Ithelda

my husband tried to make love to me . he was topaz, he was grim, he was the chalk and smoky fire of fear and gnawed-at angels - he was the bright face of fruit. he was horrible and strange. he stared, licked and rolled me in his palms like a cigarette, wordlessly dragged me from my grassy bed by the bones in my legs and pinned me down in that darkly smiling, jagged place where he put his hands on me and dragged the crushed moans from my chest made me yell like a dog and oh how frightened and trembling and in awe i was of his caverns, his black and rolling eyes how his pomegranates bled and stung and trickled, bitt

Kiss me softly in the autumn, For Indian summer's glare fades too soon, And the wolf-wind winter Is fast approaching your eyes.