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“While I was at Otherwhere, on the moors,
I met a grotesque boy, a faery’s child.
His hair was long with a darkness that lures
away women and boys. His was a wild
love, a wickedness soaked in sin,”
the priest
told me when I asked if my Azazyel
had passed him by. Half-angel and half-beast;
I’ve lost my mate, my seraphic rebel.
I have been to the shamans of the Sioux
and the Sami; they’ve shown me his beastly
beauty, lost in the land of fever-dew,
drunk on hashish, mescal and peyote.
Love is grotesque. Just a taste will begin
our hunt for this drunkenness we call sin.