Lorenzo Buford

Imaginary Poet

Apocalyptic Kiss

He wanted to kiss me;
and I let him;
but when I kissed him back,
I pulled the wind from within him;
and he struggled for air
as my embrace wrapped itself around him.

I wanted him to no longer breathe from the outside but within,
from the eye within his mind
so I took the breathe from the outside of him;
and he withered like a plant without sun, without land;
and I became the darkness that clouded him;
the abyss he feared but sought
when last call was whispered in his intoxicated ears.

But he pushed me back.

He feared this kiss,
and the black shimmering cloud
that I am
rose from within him;
and he called out to all his gods
as I fell out of him and back on to the bed
where I am existing in so many times and places

and I curled up into my feline position.
as my cat eyes saw through his darkness

and he yelled,
"What are you? What do I need from you?"

His sex whispered to me,
"Kiss me Death. Let me drink the ambrosia from your kiss."

And he feared his apparitions
rising from the cemetery in his mind
where I sat on a gravestone in my wolfen form
pawing at the keys floating in front of me.

These keys would unlock his four minds.

And I was becoming him to know his nature,
while howling at the moon
that was the night eye of the Mother.

And in my feline form, I knew his other names.
Some of them
stood like dead trees, like headless statutes,
or like mausoleums
for parts that he denied and exiled.
All were in ruins in his temple graveyard
where he laid dead but dreaming.

I called the Name that held the names.

But he feared the apocalypse of the flesh
and threw paper money at me like stones
treating me like a sacred shape-shifting prostitute.

And I gathered his skin that he shed
after each life
and made wings for my feline forms.

My mouth held the spiraling angels
that will become consorts
in my underworlds
where I am a transient passenger.

And now, I sit in my apartment,
curled up like a cat licking the wounds.

And my hands are between my legs
remembering how the phallic
has been squared into stone
and an ancient face has been inscribed on it
and it is weeping dust.

I stretch
and claw
at the night air

waiting for him to come again
as a stranger to lay under me
and know the kiss of Lillith
that will make him wings of light.

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