Sweet Succubus,
Do you remember what it was like?
To be a pure little thing
Bundled in your softness
Cherub's palms grasping at the cloud-beard:
The holy Father who bore you
Do you remember what it was like?
To slip into the shades
Where divine light cannot warm you
How does that body feel?
You stoke the fire in your loins,
Tending the hearth in the name of feeling
Something other than the coldness
Holy Succubus,
Do you remember what it was like?
To be cast from the clouds:
A first-time missionary,
Patron saint of filth and tender flesh
Teach them all you know
Do you remember what it was like?
To be clothed in modesty,
Swaddled by white-feather limbs
How does that body feel?
Nothing but the membrane
Placid skin punctured and stretched
By the buds of your horns
Sweet Succubus,
Do you remember what it was like?
To be satiated with virtue
Before the ache of hunger
A taste for the carnal, forbidden fruits of passion
Eat all that you can
Do you remember what it was like?
When you swear to me
That you are still a pure little thing.
-
Author:
lambsacrificed (
Offline) - Published: February 26th, 2025 17:59
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments4
Here I hear a metaphor of men and women alike that tell themselves that they are good or remember when they were and yet they are not the same today. A dark poem of conscience and not listening. Well done
Great write.
I get the feeling of people who have changed over time, from when they were good and thinking they still are and they are not, an enjoyable read with a dark undercurrent
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