sed non satiata
adapted from Les Fleurs du Mal by Charles Baudelaire.
a goddess like sweets with bitter edges
the scent of oleander in the sweat of summer
the promise of someday a waving mirage
midnight monster cooling herself on the tile floor in daylight
I prefer to exist in certainty, intoxicated
night bleeds into day when your mouth drips
a trail of need for me to follow,
in pursuit of your elemental spring
this burning in my porous bones, spreads like soot
flame itself doesn’t know the damage it deals
everything is a phoenix if everything burns
and just like the furies, the fiercest of loves
can still kiss the skin with her ashes,
the embers of this bed smoldering, Persephone’s winter
she flows like water, like strings of seed pearls
her movement its own gentle spell,
sinuous snake and attentive charmer at once,
the sound of her song a hymn
like a church left standing alone after the storm,
the same destruction in dual incarnation
an anchor always knows its way,
she opens her arms, offers her eternity
one eye is obsidian and the other is onyx
her nails all coffins of garnet
tracing circles like halos high on her thigh
each satisfied body she sends on its way
carries her fever, less a handful of sighs
they transform to jewels, all her hoarded adornments.
Monica Deck is a writer, recurve archer, sometimes project manager, and has more works in progress than she thought. This one is her current favorite.
