Diary of a Drug Fiend
Page 82
Thrust in it; so, we who are all of fire,
One dull red flare of devilish desire,
The God of Israel shall not quench with tears,
Nor blood of martyrs drawn from myriad spheres,
Nor watery blood of Christ; that blood shall boil
With all the fury of our hellish toil;
His veins shall dry with heat; his bones shall bleach
Cold and detested, picked of dogs, on each
Dry separate dunghill of burnt Golgotha.
But we will wrest from heaven a little star,
The Star of Bethlehem, a lying light
Fit for our candle, and by devils’ might
Fix in the vast concave of hell for us
To lume its ghastly shadows murderous,
That in the mirror of the lake of fire
We may behold the image of Desire
Stretching broad wings upon us, and may leap
Each upon other, till our bodies weep
Thick sweet salt tears, and, clasping as of yore
Within dull limits of Earth’s barren shore,
Fulfil immense desires of strange new shames,
Burn into one another as the flames
Of our hell fuse us into one wild soul:
Then, one immaculate divinest whole,
Plunge, fire, within all fire, dive far to death;
Till, like king Satan’s sympathetic breath,
Burn on us as a voice from far above
Strange nameless elements of fire and love;
And we, one mouth to kiss, one soul to lure,
For ever, wedded, one, divine, endure
Far from sun, sea, and spring from love or light,
Imbedded in impenetrable night;
Deeper than ocean, higher than the sky,
Vaster than petty loves that dream and die,
Insatiate, angry, terrible for lust,
Who shrivel God to adamantine dust
By our fierce gaze upon him, who would strive
Under our wrath, to flee away, to dive
Into the deep recesses of his heaven.
But we, one joy, one love, one shame for leaven,
Quit hope and life, quit fear and death and love,
Implacable as God, desired above
All loves of hell or heaven, supremely wed,
Knit in one soul in one delicious bed
More hot than hell, more wicked than all things,
Vast in our sin, whose unredeeming wings
Rise o’er the world, and flap for lust of death,
Eager as anyone that travaileth;
So in our lusts, the monstrous burden borne
Heavy within the womb, we wait the morn
Of its fulfilment. Thus eternity
Wheels vain wings round us, who may never die,
But cling as hard as serpent’s wedlock is,
One writhing glory, an immortal kiss.
ODE TO VENUS CALLIPYGE
Where was light when thy body came
Out of the womb of a perished prayer?
Where was life when the sultry air,
Hot with the lust of night and shame,
Brooded on dust, when thy shoulders bare
Shone on the sea with a sudden flame
Into all Time to abundant fame?
CHORUS
Daughter of Lust by the foam of the sea!
Mother of flame! Sister of shame!
Tiger that Sin nor her son cannot tame!
Worship to thee! Glory to thee!
Venus Callipyge, mother of me.
Fruitless foam of a sterile sea,
Wanton waves of a vain desire,
Maddening billows flecked with fire,
Storms that lash on the brine, and flee,
Dead delights, insatiate ire
Broke like a flower to the birth of thee,
Venus Callipgye, mother of me!
Deep wet eyes that are violet-blue!
Haggard cheeks that may blush no more!
Body bruised daintily, touched of gore
Where the sharp fierce teeth have bitten through
The olive skin that thy sons adore,
That they die for daily, are slain anew
By manifold hate; for their tale is few.
Few are thy sons, but as fierce as dawn,
Rapturous moments and weary days,
Nights when thine image a thousand ways
Is smitten and kissed on the fiery lawn
Where the wash of the waves of thy native bays
Laps weary limbs, that of thee have drawn
Laughter and fire for their souls in pawn.
O thy strong sons! they are dark as night,
Cruel and barren and false as the sea,
They have cherished Hell for the love of thee,
Filled with thy lust and abundant might,
Filled with the phantom desire to free
Body and soul from the sound and sight
Of a world and a God that doth not right.
O thy dark daughter! their breasts are slack,
Their lips so large and as poppies red;
They lie in a furious barren bed;
They lie on their faces, their eyelids lack
Tears, and their cheeks are as roses dead;
White are their throats, but upon the back
Red blood is clotted in gouts of black.
All on their sides are the wounds of lust,
Down, from the home of their auburn hair
Down to the feet that we find so fair;
Where the red sword has a secret thrust
Pain, and delight, and desire they share.
Verily, pain! and thy daughters trust
Thou canst bid roses spring out of dust.
Mingle, ye children of such a queen,
Mingle, and meet, and sow never a seed!
Mingle, and tingle, and kiss and bleed
With the blood of the life of the Lampsacene,
With the teeth that know never a pitiful deed
But fret and foam over with kisses obscene –
Mingle and weep for what years have been.
Never a son nor a daughter grow
From your waste limbs, lest the goddess weep;
Fill up the ranks from the babes that sleep
Far in the arms of a god of snow.
Conquer the world, that her throne may keep
More of its pride, and its secret woe
Flow through all earth as the rivers flow.
Which of the gods is like thee, our queen?
Venus Callipyge, nameless, nude,
Thou with the knowledge of all indued
Secrets of life and the dreams that mean
Loves that are not, as are mortals’, hued
All rose and lily, but linger unseen
Passion-flowers purpled, garlands of green!
Who like thyself shall command our ways?
Who has such pleasures and pains for hire?
Who can awake such a mortal fire
In the veins of a man, that deathly days
Have robbed of the masteries of desire?
Who can give garlands of fadeless bays
Unto the sorrow and pain we praise?
Yea, we must praise, though the deadly shade
Fall on the morrow, though fires of hell
Harrow our vitals; a miracle
Springs at thy kisses, for thou hast made
Anguish and sorrow desirable
Torment of hell as the leaves that fade
Quickly forgotten, despised, decayed.
They are decayed, but thou springest again,
Mother of mystery, barren, who bearest
Flowers of most comeliest children, who wearest
Wounds for delight, whose desire shall stain
Star-space with blood as the price thou sharest
With thy red lovers, whose passing pain
Ripens to marvellous after-gain.
Thou art the fair, the wise, the divine,
Thou art our mother, our goddess, our life,
Thou art our passion, our sorrow, our strife,
Thou, on whose forehead no lights ever shine,
Thou, our Redeemer, our mistress, our wife,
Thou, barren sister of deathlier brine,
Venus Callipyge, mother of mine!
CHORUS
Daughter of Lust by the foam of the sea!
Mother of flame! Sister of shame!
Tiger the Sin nor her son cannot tame!
Worship to thee! Glory to thee!
Venus Callipyge, mother of me.
VOLUPTE
Clitoridette, m’amourette,
Ote ta jolie robe d’or,
Tes roses bas, chemise nette,
Et découvre pour moi le con,
Le con que j’aime, aux cheveux noirs,
Le cul ou tu m’admets ce soir,
Les seins je baise, que j’adore,
Tous les secrets de ton boudoir.
‘Viens a moi, qui, raide, couche,
Attendant tes désirs lubriques;
Tu suces et couvres dans la bouche
De l’amour le pouce phallique;
Je tremble, en mourant avec feu,
Voyant la clarté de tes yeux,
Leur flamme méchante, saphique,
Brulant en langueur amoureux.
Laisse mon épée affaiblie,
Donne a mes baisere la vagine
D’ou je suc’rai de l’eau-de-lys,
Et te ferai comme divine.
La langue qui cherche tes reins,
Les genoux qui pressent tes seins,
Te feraient déesse, ma mine,
Je mordrai, et tu cries en vain.
Alors, de nouvelle énergie,
Je jette entre tes jolies cuisses,
Dedans ton cul, ce fleur-de-lys,
Long, gros, et ardent. Ça, il glisse
En haut, en bas. La passion croit
Fiévreux, furieux, pour toi!
Vient, la crise du délice!....
Ah, je suis mort!.... Embrasse-moi!!
RONDELS
1
Maid of dark eyes, that glow with shy sweet fire,
Song lingers on thy beauty till it dies
In awe and longing on the smitten lyre:
Maid of dark eyes.
Grant me thy love, earth’s last surpassing prize,
Me, cast upon the faggots of love’s pyre
For love of the white bosom that underlies
The subtle passion of thy snowy attire,
The shadowy secret of thine amorous thighs,
The inmost, shrine of my supreme desire,
Maid of dark eyes!
2
Boy of red lips, pale face, and golden hair,
Of dreamy eyes of love, and finger-tips
Rosy with youth, too fervid and too fair,
Boy of red lips.
How the fond ruby rapier glides and slips
’Twixt the white hills thou spreadest for me there;
How my red mouth immortal honey sips
From thy ripe kisses, and sucks nectar rare
When each the shrine of God Priapus clips
In hot mouth passionate more than man may bear,
Boy of red lips!
AD LUCIUM
The Lampsacene is girt with golden dress;
His courts gleam ever with forbidden light;
I only bring no gift to him tonight,
Being the mockery of his rod’s distress.
While satyrs woo, and fauns, and nymphs give ear,
I burn unslacked, my Lucius is unkind,
He dare not guess, I dare not speak my mind,
Nor feed upon his lips, nor call him dear,
Nor may I clasp him, lissome and divine,
Nor suck our passion from his eager verge,
Nor pleasure in his quick embraces prove;
I faint for love, come aid me sparkling wine,
That my unquenchable desire may urge
In Lucius’ fiery heart responsive love.
O fervent and sweet to my bosom
Past woman, I’ll clasp thee and cling
Till the buds of desire break to blossom
And my kisses surprise thee and sting;
Till my hand and my mouth are united
In caresses that shake thee and smite,
While the stars hide their lustre affrighted
In measureless night.
I will neither delay nor dissemble
But utter my love in thine ear
Though my voice and my countenance tremble
With a passion past pity and fear;
I will speak from my heart till thou listen
With the soft sound of wings of a dove,
Till thine eyes anser back till they glisten
0 Lucius, love!
I will touch thee but once with a finger,
But thy vitals shall shudder and smart,
And the smile through thy sorrow shall linger,
And the touch shall pierce through to thine heart;
Thy lips a denial shall fashion,
Thou shalt tremble and fear to confess,
Till thou suddenly break into passion
With yes, love, and yes.
I will kiss thee and fondle and woo thee
And mingle my lips into thine
That shall tingle and thrill through and through thee
As the draught of the flame of a wine;
I will drink of the fount of our pleasure
Licking round and about and above
Till its streams pour me out their full measure,
O Lucius, love!
Thou shalt clasp me and clamber above me
And press me with eager desire,
Thou shalt kiss me and clip me and love me
With a love beyond infinite fire,
Thou shalt pierce to the portals of passion
And satiate thy longing and lust
In the fearless Athenian fashion,
A rose amid dust.
We will taste all delights and caresses
And know all the secrets of joy,
From the love-look that chastity blesses
To the lusts that deceive and destroy;
We will live in the light of sweet glances,
By day and by night we will move
To the music of manifold dances,
O Lucius, love!
A PAEAN IN THE SPRINGTIDE
Now is the triumph of Love, now is the day of his guerdon,
Now when the blossoms are full on the bountiful delicate spray;
Now has the year sprung aloft and shaken the frost and its burden,
April is come with his showers, sun laughs and promises May.
Newly the bird sings of Love, newly he wooeth a maiden,
Newly the heart of a boy leaps, and his eyes catch its fire.
Light is his laugh as the sea, with no sad remembrances
laden;
Light as the sea, and as fierce and fickle is grown his desire.
Here in the spring we are free, as the winds that look love at the ocean;
; Change we and weary too soon of delight that is hardly
begun;
Pleasure and pain are made one, a delirious noble emotion;
Love dies before he grows manly, dawn never yields to the sun.
Love in a night shall live and die,
Love in a day shall wing and fly;
Love in the Spring shall last an hour,
Easily fades a spring-tide flower.
Where are the blooms of frost, hoary and bright and vestal;
Virginal lips not kissed, flowers unbidden to bud?
Ah! we have slain their beams, as our low heads lazily nestle,
Where the dark home of Love is, where the impatient blood
Spurts at the furious kiss, darts far forth as an adder,
Stinging and biting amain, as the night becomes golden with fire.
Dawn brings reason back, and the violet eyes grow sadder,
Eyes that were red in the dark, eyes of enfevered desire.
Eyes that wrote songs with a glance, whose look sang the sweetest of stories,
Sweeter than lips could have told, who loved better only to kiss;
Sweeter than hands could have written, who took delight in
the glories
Fierce of a triple embrace, a fadeless implacable bliss.
Love is a sword whose blade is red,
Love is a deed whose fruit is dead;
Love is a tiger, fierce of power,
Easily fades a spring-tide flower.
Death shall come slow and soft, with the stealthy tread of a leopard;
While the few stars have grown dim, as he seeks for an
innocent prey.
Death shall pounce soon on the fold, where Love was a
treacherous shepherd;
So with hot lips shall he come, ere the mountains are silver and grey.
Life shall gasp out in the gloom, and all our desires shall perish;
Hope and its roseate crown shall fall in the dark to the dust.
Love and his garland shall go, with the last of the joys we may cherish,
Death with cold finger shall touch the delicate springs of our lust.
We shall be weary of kisses, weary of all the caresses Man or his sisters of shame dream or devise or obtain;
Cover the white limbs ashamed with the fiery impassionate tresses,
Once for a bed to delight, now for a covering to pain.
Love is a fruit with rotted core,
Love is a thing shall be no more;
Love is a bride of a bitter dower,
Easily fades a spring-tide flower.
Where shall be Hylas then? for his lonely lips are sighing,