Freyja
My lips, part, As spice and mead touch An ecstasy of forethought The anticipation And will, to see, I stand upon the precipice Of all that is known Golden and unyielding Blood runs into the water Slaking mans lust The finger stirs and rivers appear As voices on the wind Changing and chanting and moaning The chain at the throat tightens Gifting the thrill of restraint Feathers brush against bare skin Rendering sight useless And so Take your weak imitation of beauty And burn it to the core Flames flicker across embers I rake against the coals Desire is current incarnate Blood iron taste of death My lips part They come bloodied to my halls Or not at all Broken bones all bruised and beautiful I sharpen my claws Honey sweet and biting raw Power beyond measure Truest women never bow Or claim themselves to be lesser I shudder with revulsion At apologising for your sex Take your shaming tongue and split it Plunge it into the depths and drown Bleed for every moment Give it all or not at all I see the measure of you And if you are found wanting, Come not at all.
- channeled by Joey morris 2018 All rights reserved