Driving With The Incubus
When I first saw you, neither man
nor woman, flesh nor fowl,
you'd brought round the car; a wisp
of sulfur fog hung from the grill.
It snaked up your shoe to your
black and white smile
neither corrupt nor immaculate,
misting my face like tomorrow's shadow.
You held the sedan door wide;
I might have walked away but I was young,
and you were the best chauffeur
the devil could find, with
that changeling's face, the hellpit's flare,
black peacock eyes and velvet hands
for the gears. You put them
over my fog-wet lashes;
through the holes
in your skin I saw pinpoint stars
as you smoothed the rucked sheets
of my cheek to finger
the bed of skull so soon to be yours.
It was a black car without a brake
made to run the asphalt years
when the heart
was a cindered highway,
each crossroads a Celtic knot
the devil my driver
til we stood at journey's end,
neither man nor woman
nor flesh most foul,
tipping at the edge of the wailing abyss
where all I can see
are waning stars,
sulfur skin steaming fog, your
sharp teeth scarlet through
a feral smile.
Posted for Fireblossom, at
Process Note: I've written many poems for the incubus over the years. He's always changing his face. You can find them by searching the blog or by clicking on the label "incubus" below.
Images: top via the Sunday Muse Fair Use
Bottom Untitled, © Zdislaw Beksinksi Fair Use