Aubrey Beardsley

Corrupted embryos with knowing eyes
carnival masked – their little pouts are wet,
anticipating how a thumb applies
exquisite pain to nipples. Not quite yet.

Bare-breasted woman raddled, on the town
again. Her hair’s a mess. Her chin’s like will
embodied, though the flounces of her gown
were cleaner yesterday. He drew until

he coughed himself to death, and burned with rage
that other people got to fuck all night.
Anger and lust rampant on every page
that he engraved. They’re there in black and white.

Deep black you want to chew, velvet and lush.
White virgin perverts just about to blush.

Advertisements

About rozkaveney

Middleaged, trans, novelist, poet, activist
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Aubrey Beardsley

  1. crowleycrow says:

    That is exquisite. Writing the way you do (IMHO) is risking a lot because the result is either perfect or nothing. You hit perfect with amazing frequency, but this one’s one.

  2. caprine says:

    Oh, this is perfect.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s