It is an infantile superstition of the human spirit that virginity would be thought a virtue and not the barrier that separates ignorance from knowledge.
Let me kiss thy cold lips of purple
And tap upon cheeks of illusory flesh
Festering neck-warmth fondles
Behold, the dead living and living dead mesh.
Euphoric caress of thy severed breasts
Red-stained pecks of your ripped belly
Chew me-oh maggots of this undying quest
Mock a man for his lifeless dream and his immortal folly.
Linger my tongue to thy thighs of snow
And taste the fruit of enslaving venom
Toss my smile, sanity and soul-to and fro
Forlorn be joyous and joyous be forlorn.
Echo my wails of this benign grim
As I make love to the unrequited maiden
And dance merry torments in this conscious dream
Of me, my bride and our melancholic heaven.
It is only rarely that one can see in a little boy the promise of a man, but one almost always see in a little girl the threat of a woman.