Effy Winter

Poetry

For Kenan

I am choked

 

I am choked,  

                         swollen, red and wet.

 

My petals sprawl within your split                  

                                                                   flesh

                                                                   cage.

 

 

 

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

 

I am

           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.




After stillbirth


 

After stillbirth,

 

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

© 2018 by Azia Archer

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