Tags
fae, lewd eldritch horror, poem, Poetry, roots, sonnet, uncanny sex, unwombed thing
Twilit sea. Twilit swamp. Twilit bedroom.
Uncanny times. Uncanny sex; since all
sex is uncanny. From womb to the tomb,
I’ll show you. Go down by the broken wall,
down by the ash tree’s roots: blood and mud, clay
and moss. I’ll show you your loss. Unwombed thing;
unborn ash and ember when the moon’s fae
is on you. Before your birth blood, stirring,
the way all chaos stirs, forced you into
physical form, you lived with me, dearest.
It’s why I’ve been abstaining for thirteen
years. You were my loam, my shadowy blue
soil. I was your roots, your muscled cock, lust.
Now you’re flesh and I’m an eldritch obscene.
Notes:
While popularized by Lovecraft, the term, “eldritch,” means something strange or unnatural, especially in the way that it inspires fear … which, I suppose, means, “Eldritch Horror,” is a bit redundant.
