I am choked
I am choked,
swollen, red and wet.
My petals sprawl within your split
It is as it was in the beginning
It is as it was in the beginning –
my throat swallows your sick bleed.
I moan the hymn of conception; my menstrual heat –
its mirroring pearls stinging cunt flesh
and writhe in a softening sepulcher
with fluttering lashes, a raging fountain of blood
baring wings of rose glass,
dreaming of deep flush,
a soft heart velvet-red;
the binding of seraph lovers
beheld by God’s jewel eye.
I choke from our fate
I choke from our fate, its firm grasp around my throat.
Within you, a breaking –
a vicious shard of obsidian to spawn my fatal womb wound.
Glittering rose pools spill,
a sacrificial suffering.
Light me by the wrist with your rage.
I swear I will not cry – only shimmer
as I melt into a bloodflush beneath your fingertips.
I am comatose – pale as bone
comatose – pale as bone,
cosseted within pearl glass,
a luminescent sleep,
still bleeding over the faint glow
of our love’s awakening,
a tender violation and bruised-satin kiss;
a holy light, raging
within the moaning of a swollen mouth.
I am all soft tongue and sore eyes,
thin; smeared with bloodmilk.
Effy Winter is a contemporary romantic poet, provocative by nature. Her work explores eroticism and heartache while portraying the spawning of a carnal hunger for witchery, lust and self-sacrifice. Effy's first novel, Flowers of the Flesh, is set to be released in December 2018. Her poetry is forthcoming in Rust + Moth and other literary journals. You can learn more about Effy and her work at https://www.effywinter.com. Twitter: @fleurwomb or via Tumblr: https://fleurwomb.tumblr.com