all-lover | memories of my ghost sista

Tags

all-lover, all-mother, all-other, Amenamair, crossroads, Lilith, poem, Poetry, sonnet

Far more nervous for nightfall than I’ve been
for a while. Gloaming, some call it. The time

when paths open. — If I could leave my skin,
walk soft there, I would. I can’t. That sublime

skill is beyond me. The most that I do
is wait down by the crossroads for her guide.

Amenamair: a name the ancients knew.
The All-Mother. In last night’s dusk I spied

in the willow where her queer owl singsonged.
I have never been this close to an owl

before or had such a song burn in me:
“Amenamair. I have longed. I have longed.”

I long to leave my skin. I long to prowl.
I long to be your song in that dark tree.

Note:
Just as Odin, in Norse lore, is called the All-Father, one of the many names of Lilith, in Armenian (the ancient language that I keep going back to), is Amenamair (Ամենամայր), the All-Mother.

Tags

all-lover, all-mother, all-other, erotic poem, erotica, lasciviousness that transcends, owl howl, sonnet

Here is the cum that I spread on the bread.
Here is the blood that I spread on the cum.

Here is the burning candle that I’ve fed
them both to while her owl sang a solemn

whinnying song in the dark tree. Altar
to her name and tongue, her cleft and cleavage:

She-Folds-Back-Her-Labia. All-Mother.
Owl-Faced-Moon. The-One-Whose-Cums-In-Carnage …

Each night an offering of my essence
is left for her. Bread soaks up everything

that I smear on it. If she’s pleased she sends
her owl, filling the night with the fragrance

of raunch and vixen fever, countering
cunts and lasciviousness that transcends.

memories of my ghost sista

~ the dead are never satisfied

Tag Archives: all-lover

amenamair

all-mother, all-lover, all-other