Incubus…

Incubus by clinock. 18″x 22″. Graphite, Conte and Charcoal, on paper.

Poem by clinock.

 

 

I sometimes have my doubts / That when she smiles

She smiles for me / Or for some wild entity

Who, with hidden voice and lust / Emerges in her sleep, enfolding

Innocence with thrusting flesh.

 

Fallen from grace, wingless he comes / Trailing through backyard garbage

In the gaping tomcat night, / Clawing at her curtained window,

Thrusting his white idiot face against the glass, / And singing his terrible song.

 

Trembling she invites him in. / Thrilled yet terrified she lays

Naked in the humming dark, / Prostrate on rumpled sheets,

Eyes closed tight, anticipating / The touch that opens,

The whispered breath, / The knocking clock,

The cold, dark wind.

 

The night has teeth that bite, / And tongues that caress the skin

And lap the dream as cats ingesting milk. / And flickering shadows remain

To cloak the cries of invaded flesh / And hallucinate the seed of ecstasy.

 

The moon explodes, crying, sighing, / Helpless among dark clouds.

Bound by whispers / And gripped by lunar hands

She twists and turns / In his cold embrace.

Wanting and naked / She opens and closes

In her dream / As a night flower plucked

Before its time.

 

His presence is all encompassing. / His embrace, like sucking quicksand,

Absorbs her beauty. / She runs in her dream

But her running is slow. / And wherever she goes

He is always there, inside her / And around her,

And the morning is too far away.


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