Saturday, April 7, 2012

Coffee With The Incubus

Cup of Coffee After Dunking and Eating a Biscotti



Coffee With The Incubus
(Incubus V)



Though more often cruel, silent inscrutable and hot,
the incubus has his tender moments
intimate, revealing, when he forgets
how he got his tail
and for whom he split his foot.

Then he sighs in deep indigo
like any lover, and lets me stroke his suede skin.
His scaled fingers catch and pull in my hair
but he puffs smokerings thru thin lips 
and frees them with a circle of loosening steam.

Closest when the darkness is complete,
when the sun has yet 
to kick the moon from his bed
and all of us are locked and loaded,
he tells me things that 

were never in the contract
knows I won’t repeat them
except to ring the fey bells
of faerie back under the smooth curl
ram curved above his scarlet ear.

His voice is heated air under the hiss, 
the random honesty of coffee splashing
into the cup, well creamed and sugared
drunk fragrant at the birdsong hour when
dark and light at last kiss goodbye.
 
Soaked as a biscotti dipped and nibbled
dunked in black heat, I know
I was formed for pleasure
to be crisp and never fall apart,
but sometimes all that

dissolving
wet sweetness leaves me
crumbling on the lip.





March/April 2012






Part of the Incubus series






Shared under a Creative Commons 2.0 Generic License

25 comments:

  1. One seems to grow strangely attached to this incubus, scaly skin and all....

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    1. One tries to find the good in everyone. ;-)

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  2. An odd intimacy here in this cuppa joe with Beelzebub's off-duty lieutenant, just before the shift begins, the fork comes out and the shriekin' commences. Old antagonists get to be like an old married couple, for the better of worse: both have been through the chamber of horrors enough times to make it almost a comfort. Maybe as the agonies ebb the motions are gone through just for old times sake, that dance with the devil better than no dance at all. Turns out the ole devil's mask has worn through at the edges, I think, revealing the tenderness of a human face, the faint outlines of an old friend, if never quite a lover. But who is? This song makes one go gentler into the hard night. Like Paul Simon sang, it's hello darkness my old friend .. B

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    1. Not to mention Still crazy after all these years yes, this is an ongoing examination of what's behind the green(or blazing hot red) door I am always trying to open, getting a blast of hellfire in my face; what pulls, what burns, what works, what doesn't--and nicely enhances an already robust fantasy life. ;-) Thanks for reading, B.

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  3. What can I say? Terrific. Mesmerizing. One of these poems that seems amazingly original and yet, once read, to capture known experience. Just wonderful. K.

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    1. Thanks, K. This series has been fun to write.

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  4. I love the sun kicking the moon from bed!

    Ah, the softer side of the Incubus, the Incubus at home, the Incubus talks with this writer over coffee... I love the almost lazy approach you've taken here, but always with the hint of fire and brimstone and souls in peril under the surface. Dare I say, your journalistic neutrality seems to have been left on the curb outside? but hey, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, right? Besides, the lip will heal (again) and I think they make a blistex for that.

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  5. I so do love your incubus "tails".

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  6. delicious...i love your intimacy with the incubus...the taking of your time int he moment with it this morning...it woos well and holds its laughter as we crumble...

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  7. Wowzers, after reading Shay, then you, I want to slink away and rend my garments. But I cant, because I must see what you both write next. I LOVE this one, especially the closing lines. Brilliant.

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    1. You're always welcome here, Sherry, in whatever state your garments are in. ;-)

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  8. ...intimacy with one so dangerous...

    His scaled fingers catch and pull in my hair
    but he puffs smokerings thru thin lips
    and frees them with a circle of loosening steam.

    ... mesmerizing and so imaginative! You illustrate well with your words, but I can't help feel this would make amazing illustrations :)

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    1. Thanks, Margaret--wish I could produce him so you could take one of your excellent photos.;-) Feel free to draw if you like, though.

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  9. This has such restrained sensuality. Gorgeous and then some!

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  10. Those last two stanzas did it for me. People always tell me I'm a pretty tough little cookie. Now I know its true. I'm a biscotti dragged through the bitterest of Italian coffee and lived to crumble another day.

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  11. Oh these are truly brilliant and compelling :)

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  12. I'll never drink coffee without thinking of this... so amazing.

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  13. Somehow you manage to make an incubus seem sexy and alluring, something I'd never thought about a creature with split feet, a tail, and scales! I love the phrase "sighs in deep indigo" and those last two stanzas leave me quite dissolved!

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  14. "Locked and Loaded" ---> Damn, that got me smiling. Very nice.
    Love the poem. All that from a persistent biscotti in hot coffee on warm lips -- sweet!

    I had to look up Incubus. Obviously I need him for this poem! "Incubate" will never be the same. Thank you for the introduction but especially for giving me a name for the Succubus. "Succulent" will never be the same. Sad to think the succubus' visits may hasten my death -- ah, what the hell, bring it!

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  15. crumbling like a biscotti in hot black coffee...isn't that the most beautiful way to fall apart...? oh my...hmmm..

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  16. That last two stanzas are sheer magic ~ Lovely share Hedge ~

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  17. can't you write bad poetry every once in a while, Hedge? i mean really! i love your Incubus poems and this one just gets better with every stanza and the ending is... well, as Heaven said, magical!

    between you and Fireblossom and Mama Zen, i might as well just hang up my hat...er, i mean put down my pen.

    FABulous write!

    have a great week!

    d

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  18. A great piece, from open to close. I'm not sure how you manage it, but coffee with the incubus suddenly sounds like a good idea. Fabulous closing images with the crumbling biscotti. Thanks for putting this one out here again!

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'Poetry is an echo asking a shadow to dance' ~Carl Sandburg