the Sacred disease

My blood is white. My milk is red.
My succus leavens an altar-bread.
I’m a mother of senseless gods
and eminently qualified bawds.

I’m gloss on the prudish icon.
I’m your crumpled mummified axon.
Stand on your knees! Shut off your cord!
Feel every twitch of your moribund lord!

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA
© All rights reserved 2015

23 thoughts on “the Sacred disease

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