17 May 2008

A Loaded .45 Back From The Dead

You're a loaded .45 back from the dead, long-legged and outlawed in 41 countries for tearing the wings off of angels who were only looking for a kiss. You would've fucked them gladly, joyously, dragged them all into a dark alley, one by cherubic one, and taught them to sing in the key of Oh God, Yes! But your sixth sense was quick to detect the microchips coursing through their veins, and you knew it wasn't fate who sent them.

Vampires worship you as the purest manifestation of the night and keep photographs of that electric look in your eyes stored in their crypts and lairs, wherever they can genuflect in peace and quiet. Sometimes they even let you suck their blood, just for the thrill of reversing roles. Their sacred texts all prophecy a final day when they will all dissolve spontaneously and live in the timeless nirvana of your compassionate heart.

You like to watch, serenely but with a soft smile on your softer lips, as the planets struggle free from their orbits. Your eyes beam brightest when you see them drinking starry wines and dancing feral dances in defiance of the sun. When several pair off and try to sneak away in a vain attempt to be alone in this crowded, bustling universe, you become a colossal array of the most dazzling crystals and soar up to distract the vision of the moon.

Your hair is the music played in only the finest brothels. Your curves possess more allure than cocaine from heaven. The fiercest battles have been fought, with untold numbers of men happily sacrificing the last of their blood to the ground below them, over who you would deign to honour with one fake smile. Your every cell seems to be programmed to steal the hearts of men before feeding them to the many bloody tongues lining the ancient streets of this strange, hallucinated city.

And yet, your bones creak and twist with the pain you feel at never having learned how to transform entire paradigms with the sheer wetness of your clit.

For Theoni Tambaki