"The Queen, Abyss" by Amanda Pape

To know her body is to know

Death,

and where his lithe hands may 

wander

But he speaks in a language 

that is understood

Flowers withering into Earth’s palms,

the erotic rhythms of 

ripening and decay,

the tender thrusts of the seasons

A frost encroaches upon bud and stem

Speaking in

bittersweet dialects

Tart remarks and honeyed tongues

Swallowed succulent seeds of three

That bore a fruit of

greed, lust, wrath

Until her bushel of roses

became a bramble of thorns

He bestowed her crude name,

taught the poetry of destruction

But she is nature’s voracious mouth.

a womb of carnage

where chaos waits

To hold him under

pomegranate persuasion

The amalgamation

of desolation and disorder

her true form

Gentle jade gave way to 

carnivorous crimsons

Our marriage bed bloomed

into a garden of petulant poppies

He ambles in archaic affection

Doting upon his derelict bride

who dominates his cold domain

He carved her out with obsidian

But she was already faceted a queen