A cascade of thousands of pomegranate pits fructify her from above and female hands maculate the goddess’s body in the musical mists of mind-blowing nightly sex. But they won’t fuck her, they will kill her.

Banned and lionised by drunken cactuses,eternally sanguine in black and white, raw like the majestic sex on her ruby red deathswoman mouth, silver-coated terror in her eyes.

I believe in Aphrodite, I believe in insane thinkers, I believe in roaring free-spirits, I believe in full-throated poetry, I believe in feverish sex and moony love with all its facets.

They burn books now, mama.The monsters burn fucking books now, mama. They have eyes full of disappointing madness. Their tongues taste like fulvous indoctrination. They teach us. Teach us sadism, hatred, lust to kill, conformity....

These hands elate my life, choke me, broil my bosom, spank me, give fire to my words, my words, mother, my heart beats in my words.

The dense fog manifests ever-living gravestones, the tunes of decadence, the hearts that were doomed to dance alone. Here lies untouched beauty, a brittle dream, an unseen sea-born nightmare, an isolated acheirous harf, fishbones without...

Stretch out your tongue and let the words drip on the world like savage shooting muses, never, never to be forgotten, if once fallen on earth, they stand in glittery defloration.

Love may be able to force you into precarious situations, it may lead you into double-edged bonfires and you don’t smell the smoke, you only see the temptation of a perfume.

Their raspy kisses brand our jam tart necks, their treacherous miasma clasps our herbal thighs. Motherlessly we surrender, too many fathers we have, we, your daughters of joy.

They can fly and they howl, they slaughter depression and headaches, they daydream like gangbanging daffodils, orchids and cherry blossoms grasping mauve toffee clouds, they breastfeed laughter.

There she stood, hiding; the mother without child, the voiceless woman full of anger. Her smoked nails hammered her evaporated heart snivelling in the grotty kitchen of disaster. Her face, depleted, cauterised. Her eyes wheezed...

Crime scenes of pure sex, thorns on her body, blow-dry.

Lose myself in your blueberry eyes Magnolia, kiss your mauve lips of grapes, squeeze your fleshy, milky macaroon breasts,smell your opium breath of subconsciousness, labyrinth of desires.

She is a compassionate Amazon forming a muse from misery, full of graphic words, she doesn’t hide, she speaks, she writes, she uses words that individualise her, she goes deeper and people cannot grasp her,...

Heat in her birds of prey fingertips, smoke of gilded flowers in her aureate gorging hair.