“Secrets of Primal Chaos,” the book said;
an odd find in a dour Baptist bookstore.
A gray girl with a beguiling squid head
beckoned from the cover … as if rancor
and lust were something that the gods just gave
away. I’ve snogged Set, finger-fucked Tiamat,
licked my own cum off Hades’ hands. To rave
possessed is the province of the poet.
Chaos can be chthonicly cathartic.
I took that tome home. It’s on my bookshelf.
Why read it? Turmoil is its own romance;
like how quick licks turn us into mystics.
Sex is prayer. Perhaps one day you, yourself,
will want this, too. Perhaps? Perhaps? Perhaps.
Set (Egyptian) and Tiamat (Mesopotamian) are both ancient gods of chaos. When something is Chthonic that means it is from the underworld, subterranean, infernal, much like Hades himself.