Bride of the ChattahoocheebyRustyMcNail©
The one-eyed sky in minstrel dress
balefully witnesses my distress.
As I toss and turn in the darkened gloom,
midnight crawls into my room.
I rise and stare through the window glass
and cast my eyes to the edge of the grass.
Puckish shadows squirm and romp
along the trail that leads to the swamp.
A sudden movement distracts my stare,
scalloped wings that clip the air.
They seem to pause in the icy night
and beckon me to follow their flight.
No strength to dismiss the hypnotic call,
I don my robe and enter the hall.
Down the streets and out the door,
with pounding heart, I cross the moor.
As I enter the marsh and the tangled black,
the whip-like vines caress my back.
With misted breath and wind-teared eyes
I search for the wings in the smokey skies.
The cypress hags with gnarled knees
shake their beards with ghoulish glee.
The wolfish howl compels me on;
I crash through the murk, and the swamp is gone.
The owl-eyed moon in the velvet sky
beacons a tree before my eye;
its' branches bare, withered and sere
frame the wings which now appear.
Unfolding themselves from a taut cocoon,
the reach to the sky and blot the moon.
Unable to move, though fearing to die,
I watch the form transmogrify.
Be-fanged obsidian demon there,
whose wired fur softens to raven hair;
rat-face melts to a visage below
that's paler than milk and colder than snow.
The black-fist body and rat-like face,
now white and pure as a porcelain vase;
I'm hypnotized in spite of my dread;
no beauty transcends the Queen of the Dead.
I stare at the moistness of her lips,
her upturned breasts with crimson tips.
My eyes are drawn where her legs enjoin
the shorn beauty of her cloven groin.
"Mortal," she speaks, her voice serene,
"on your knees and worship your Queen!
Here in the Chattahnooch we'll wed;
together we'll rule the great undead."
I tremble with passion and quake with fear,
and throw off my robe as She draws near.
I fall to my knees and arch my head,
and surrender my neck to the Queen of the Dead.
Down, down, her lips descend,
and too my shivering neck append;
her tumescent fangs to death promote
then penetrate my virgin throat.
She fastens her mouth to the puncture hole;
with drooling lust she sucks my soul.
Like a fount through my veins my juices thrum
and spurt in her mouth like a wounded plum.
Greedily she drinks, and, sated her bliss,
engages my mouth in a lubricious kiss;
her tongue exports a slippery scud,
salubriously I swallow my blood.
"Now you are mine," said the Queen of the Dead,
"Before you live, you must die," she said,
"You'll live in the swamp for eternity,
ruling the Chattahooch with me."
The dawn eviscerated the night
just as our wings, entwined in flight
enter the tomb, where in day we sleep
until the dusk, when our spirits creep.
The sun is shining and grass is green;
but there is no light where I am seen.
In the dank, dark tomb where I reside
In the arms of my Chattahoochee Brides.