Friday, September 1, 2023

My Secret Teacher (Sonnet 1)

My teacher lures me out at night to meet

in spectral woods with rings of sculpted quartz.

He traces curves with bloody finger cleaved,

the curves of naked forms and chiseled art.

 

I learn my skin desires my teacher’s blood

when crystal-frozen shapes receive their taste.

Seduction makes my teacher’s teaching good,

my body aches for trials never faced.

 

The things inside the quartz are living minds,

imprisoned long ago for cosmic love.

They beat and howl against their crystal bindings,

stirred by bloody touch and stars above.

 

Now lustful screams and gleaming naked

skin compel their bone-white walls to break.


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