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In Deep Contemplation

de Striborg

"My heart was a wardrum beat
By jugular cults in eerie jungle vaults
When number thirteen fell in My lap
Lips and skin like sin, a Venus Mantrap
My appetite whetted, storm crows wheeled
At the blurred edges or reason 'til I was fulfilled
Whors d'oeuvres eaten, I tucked Her into
A grave coffin fit for the Queen of Spades
She went out like the light in My mind
Her face an avalanche of pearl, of ruby wine...
Much was a flux, but the mouth once good for fucks
Came from retirement to prove She had not lost Her touch
I kissed Her viciously, maliciously, religiously
But when has ONE been able TO best seperate the THREE?
I know I'm sick as Dahmer did, but this is what I do
Aah, aah, ahh, I'll let you sleep when I am through..."

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