THE DIG

THE DIG

Bring her to the wooden table in the
centre of the room, without hurting her.
Now, tape her mouth for I don't want the swarms
of her angry blue on my virile charms.
I know what you may be thinking, young man,
He is a white-haired gargoyle-faced bitter man.
And there he is forcing this one with hopes
of bloodfill in his piece, see if he copes,
see if he rises to the occasion.
But you, you brash, ugly, arrogant one,
you have seen nothing yet, of love, of lust.
Blue as a rotting corpse, hand on her bust,
I shall conquer a drowned one, bloated lips,
her immense body, her heaving lead hips.
The seed shall be sown in an afterlife,
And I shall capture their souls, she my wife,
All my wives, my babies, shall be born then,
In that place between blood and life rotten,
So place her well, place her to let me in,
to take my seed and sprout repulsing sin,
On the other side, where none yet has birthed.
As her grave takes her back ,untouched, unearthed.