Autumn danced sadly
on the ashes of desire
beneath the surface sullen coals
still gleaming with unburnished fire
their secret amber uninfested
unabashed, they walk me unharmed
overhead, jealous stars twinkled
a bawdy song

I was sleeping when the butterfly sky
exploded in longing
and the distant purple of my heart
twisted to violet inside me
strangling my songbird soul
scorching its evergreen
overhead,  jealous stars twinkled
in rusted sarcasm

I am mine own golem
sacred scroll lodged in my teeth
life reversed in death
black dog and ambergris
you are my army
of lost spirits, wasted lives
overhead, jealous stars twinkled
sirius canopic tongue

I am disguised in night
haunted by myself
frightened by shadows
and the imagined malice of berries
happiness ground toxic in the mortar
of desolate shards and foxglove winter
heal me in dark blue patches
refresh my ashes with aqua fennica
overhead, jealous stars twinkled
my oblivion
 
 
 
 
 
 

A study of time-flow in the presence of a dark faery

And so I spoke to her,
in my dreaming, darkly,
my words molasses
as though through a mist of green murk
my eyes shrouded shades of ebon glass
extremely fashionable (so I'm told)
at least they hid my eyes
beneath lizard lids
and how lucky
that my words took the scenic way
otherwise I might not have the time
to tell you much about her

She had raybans on
and a leather motorcycle jacket
shredded in places and hung
with tiny and colorful knickknacks
twisted plaits and cords of dreadlocked brightness
fixed studs of steel-chromed stillness
that stood out against the bleak black
and somehow, the butterfly wings that loomed royally
from her back rising above her  padded shoulders and epaulettes
like the painted sails of the pharoahs barge,
seemed not out-of-place

Her hair was the black of ravens wing
and fox-brown
and russet-red
and blonde
and blue
for all the colors that had ever hung
in tresses to frame her smile
phased in and out as time
frozen by her beauty, thawed by her heart
danced in echoes around her
casting about the glow of irridescent aura

Of course, if the wings were not suggestive
then the ears, elfin and pinnacled
told much

My words arrived...finally

"So you are a fairy?"

Time sped up as she took an interest
and with an economy of effort that would shame the laconians of Ancient
Greece
nodded her head
enigmatically
the light took advantage
of this prestigious moment
to scan slow like a soft and velvet honey
upon the fine sculpture of her cheeks
reflecting in dark sparkles
of begemmed eyes that glistened with an ageless, untold wisdom

Encouraged by this response
I ventured:

"I thought fairies would be a bit more...victorian?"

And now, like sunrise, her lips - the most perfect ruby arc
separated in perfection of a grin that shook my core
in mystic shudder.

And a voice of silver bells, strewn-strung between garden flowers,
shook by the breeze, extolled:

"The light ones, they can be like that - I'm a dark fairy"

She held up a slim wrist, drew back the black
and showed me a bracelet of twisted roses,
petals, thick and dark as blood,
thorns dotted along the angled and interwoven stalks
drawing points of red where they touched her pale skin.
As I gazed, there seemed to be a rose beneath the rose,
I see now, it was a tattoo and its drawn thorns were easily
confused with the glistening, sharp barbs

"its beautiful" I said, only the truth "Is it painful to wear?"

Harsher bells tinkled: "Life...is painful to wear...it reminds me..."

time trailed off completely at this point, it might have been a little 
tired,
gone off to put on a fresh pot of coffee to brew, infinite coffee that 
took
only one eternity to make (time probably watched it every moment).

...

Perked and refreshed, time began again.

"...that I'm alive."

In the vacuum of something meaningful to say, I uttered garbage:
"I'm glad you find it useful as well as aesthetic..." furiously 
reaching
"...because..." She looked at me with apparent interest, I
had...to...complete
"...beauty and utility rarely combine." She turned away.

"You're wrong. Beauty is *always* useful. Beauty is an energy not a 
look."

I churned inside, queasy with the unexpected inpouring of wisdom.

"An energy that emanates from the beholder...here"

And her slim hand, beset with intricate rings of silver,
spread and touched me just beneath the bottom of my ribcage
and I felt red lightning
and I felt a dark storm across my eyes
and I felt twisted ice shards shatter inside me
and these things drilled me to my marrow
and I felt my hearts river
and I felt a soft volcano
and I felt...alive

I looked into her eyes,
galaxies turned slowly there,
bespangled in a squid ink blackness
and I said:

"Thank you. Thank you. I know now.
Before, I only thought that I was alive...
Now, I *Know* that I *AM* alive."

She graced me once more with a smile of knowing,
The wisdom of ruby lips and pale skin.

I asked "Will I dream you again?"

She laughed, "perhaps I am dreaming you."

As her voice-bells reverberated,
I realized she was gone.

Time unglued itself and returned to normal flow.
And as it did, I realized that her last words...
...had no punctuation
and held an untold permutation of meanings.

And my eyes caught sight of my wrist,
tattooed with a rose-bracelet,
petals, thick and dark as blood
thorns dotted along angled and interwoven stalks
drawing points of red where they touched my skin.