By Bill Racicot





Demoness --

Child of the moonlight, why do you sing so
Harshly? Why play so base a lute? In truth
You play so beautifully that one forgets
The instrument's nature; yet perhaps you
Would like to play my golden dulcimer?
I should lend it for so small a token
As a kiss --
Why do you flee so? I mean
You no distress. Am I, then, so ghastly?
Do you not find me attractive? Raphael,
I long to feel your legs upon my own.





Archangel --

My song makes bitter refuge
In this, the house of fallen
Stars and swollen leprous gods.
The very air is pungent
With tawny smells.
Ah, Lilith!
Your breath is sweet as sunset.
Let me welcome your embrace --
Your golden pipe shall replace
My ruined voice; my tender
Throat aches so! Yet your forked
Tongue heals all men's wounds, my love.