I awakened on wet concrete as human worm, slithering like serpent–pebbles grinding bare belly. Unable to see since that cold night in the barn when Jasmine practiced surgery from a 1950s medical manual. She sculpted heart meat–shearing musculature with razored incisors. She branded it her coronary inquisition. She is my vulture. My tyrannical love master. The scar immaculate, stitched in wolf bane–strewn as long cord, knotted in chain.
With no arms, only nodules. Scaled flesh in hunter green. Wicked symbology burned upon my thorax along ridged protrusions. Pleated scallops and edged gullets–perforated trenches lined by moistened lip. She hissed like demon, “Gratification . . . grant me pleasure.”
Undulating intentions as she oozed, sticky slime slug melting atop as we engrafted–merging fluidic flesh. She hungered for my warmth and I for iced mucous–malignant sludge folding into one. Suckling human lozenge.
She was sculpted from liquid fire, blond hair, ice-brown eyes. We corkscrewed as flexuous helix atop Leviathan’s tomb–graveyard of madness. Sexual explorers upon frigid crypt. Midnight demons in love.
She clasped creamed fingers, encircling hemispheric bulb–my throbbing soul tongue; massaging, molesting, coaxing. She spread wide her ribbed slit and channeled my stiffened spike–muscled membranes cuddled; kneading, spooning and kissing.
Demon Witch: Sexual Psychotropic
We coiled, buckling spine. Twist-fucking under indigo moon. Studied by bloodshot eyes hiding in every crevasse. I ingressed swollen erection betwixt yawning cleft–tickling meniscal tissues as she moaned. I splattered within, my loins cramped in contraction–fertile expulsion and zygote humidified. Sexual insanity as human mamba wreathed in blistered lust.
Poisonous light fumed, parting my eyelids–peeling open like rib spreaders. Infernos of misery burned my mind as reality latched its wretched claws; cleaving dream from consciousness. Sweating profusely and nauseous, I retched turquoise stew across black stone. Milky cold hands slapped me raw–snapping my face in pain. Stainless steel instrumentation wrapped my soft skull–forceps peeling me from pinkish portal. Arctic wind cascading across infant flesh. My tiny body nuzzled in wrinkled palms. The silver haired doctor with peppered goatee drizzled into focus as he told my mother, “It’s a boy.”
I began sobbing, sniveling like newborn slug. My arms like noodles, my lips untrained–unable to speak. Again iced hands slapped, cracking my cheek. Someone trying to awaken me. This cannot be possible. What was happening to me?
Finally, I was coherent–lying on kaleidoscopic marble in darkened cellar. The demon witch straddling me. A string of bat skulls necklaced around her throat. Bracelets of human teeth surrounding wrists, shimmering sapphires screwed in rose nipples–scarlet milk oozing from gore.
She voiced in wicked tonality, “For you have tasted my hallucinogenic secretions. You have fed upon my nutrient–my lymph milk. You are a believer now?”
“Yes Jasmine, I am your believer.”
“You are reborn as mine,” she groaned while scribing unknown hieroglyphics across my forehead in ash . . . baptizing me.
I made moistened love to demonic nymph–explosive reverberations thundering across endless horizons. Waking the dead of a thousand eternities . . . warming the souls of all who witnessed.
*The picture is The last judgement, cathedral of Antwerp.
