Eden

I am the serpent, and she
Is my Eve
Her skin more pale
Than life-in-death,
Hair black, fuliginous
As Newcastle coal
Lips redder than a rose, or
So they say, and
She bleeds alabaster and
Exhales empty, for she
Is reality only
In a mirror

* * *

Glass

I am transparent, a
Porcelain doll they
Hope to shatter,
So clear that you can see
My heart, my
Ribs, and break them
Should you wish, for
How can glass
Escape itself, caged
Within its own fragility,
Running one-shoed
Upon a sole
So clear that
Water is put to shame
Beside its purity

* * *

Crimson Ivory

I am the red sister,
The coiled spring,
So beautiful and strong no
Bear could break me, and
You were the white rose
The bear would love, for
Is that not the luxury
Of unsurpassed strength?
To love the weak, like
You—but God how
Pale you stood against his
Paws, shimmering,
And you were the one:
Thistledown your hair
And steel your
Nerve, for there is
Iron in your heart

* * *

Love Grotesque

I am the monster
Who loved you in the dark of
Hell so black it split my soul
To petals, who loved you
With a heart so desperate
It could have burst and
Splattered at the merest stab
From one who cared, though there was
No one in this realm
Before I met you, and
Please, my love, I
Know that I am broken
Past repair, but might you
Still consent to
Mend my rose?

* * *

Thorn

I am the angry rose that
Speared your heaving side,
Plucked and pricked
Your life out
In the briars, web-death
Of the spider’s fly so
That my sisters might
Devour your pulsing
Heart like a clot
Of pudding to
Protect the chastity
Of our bud, for
She must die
Unkissed

* * *

Nettles

I am the one whose
Arm remained a
Swan’s white wing,
Arched and curving
To the side below
My shoulder, for I was once
What I am now in part, and
Yet I thank you for
Those years you spent in
Silence, destroying the
Serenity of your
Soft hands weaving
Nettles into shirts so
Sharp the very touch sent
Trails of redness
Down your wrists, though
I imagine it was an
Unintentional desire

* * *

The Lovers

I am the bird who
Was once your Jorinda, but now
We are no longer one
As two conjoined, and
All I do is sing,
(Jug, jug) no more
The words I wish to say; but
You have dreamt
Upon the teardrop
Of a flower’s pearl, clasped
Betwixt its crimson
Tongues, and you would free me
With it, and this I
Know, for in my nights
I have dreamt it too

* * *

Coiled

I am the bird-woman in
Her cage, heart in
A box, love in a
Tower; I sing at the stars, but no
One hears, save my haggard
Witch, and O, love, is it
Ladders you need? Just
Service yourself of my
Hair, it’s not that I mind, she’s
Been climbing it for
Years, I hardly feel the
Tug ripping through
My head anymore like
White-hot iron and the
Pinprick of each
Individual death

* * *

Locks And Keys

I am the bone of the key
Of the world, the finger you
Trimmed in sacrifice, less
Dear by far than men in raven
Form, though I could have been
Spared the severance had
You heeded better
Your pockets, respected more the
Moon and her silver gifts, but
You, my whole, found me the
Better fit; for like shall
Serve to kin with blood
And bone

* * *

Blue Blood

I am the nothing in
The room that is not there, you
Do not hear me, because
I have no sound, you do not
Know me, for I am
The anti-room, keeper of
The nix and naught, land
Of absent breath and women’s
Bones; red rum is to my liking,
Dear master, so feed my depths
With your brides until I am
Appeased, but let them
Not discover
That I am