As I press down with my cock pressed into

the small of your back flames catch, your veils burn,

 

goosebumps shiver across your ass. You, who

Yeats called Hag, Cailleach Bhéirre, the Sidhe’s Slattern,

 

never despaired as he claimed you did. Crones

get laid like the rest of us. As I cup

 

your ass, tongue in your erogenous zones.

As you arch your back, your cunt’s tooth’d scallop

 

lips spread wide. As you rise the way souls grown

tongue-wise rise and turn and kiss me with that

 

haunted hunger I’ve never felt elsewhere

but as you cum. Taut g-spot. A Crone’s own.

 

We’re Yates’ Scary Fairy and Saucy Brat.

Rise like mischief, like Sidhe, Host of the Air.

][][

Notes:

The Host of the Air and Sidhe (pronounced, Shee) are two of the names given to the Gaelic fairy-folk in stories and legends. The Irish poet, W. B. Yeats, pronounced Cailleach Bhéirre as, “Clooth-na-Bare,” the name of an old school fae who wanted to die because she had grown old and no one would love her. Slattern is a Victorian word meaning prostitute or a sexually promiscuous woman.