Gretel



Hansel and Gretel made love on a forrest floor. In the darkness they wept, afraid, not of the darkness or what it contained within, but at the monsters they had become.

You are my Hansel. You are the one with whom my common blood is tainted by the Mark of the fallen. I cry your name and you make me a whore.

I stub my toe on rocks covered with our sins and die a death of starvation without you. My mouth that melted into yours, as we become the same contagion, the same virion; that siamese dysfunction that breeds under the surface of our skin.

Under the cover of a false darkness, under the thick canopy of leaves. There in the dirt, amongst the worms and the vermin, among the soil and the scats; we marr our souls and pollute our hearts, making love on that forrest floor.

I can ignore the warning. I can ignore the red flags and curses we laid bare.

But I'll always want for your dirty hands on my bruised skin and the cold soft moss that sticks up my arse.

I couldn't not love you if I tried.



2003-11-18 2:41 p.m.