Clouds Without Water

Vi ‘Thus shall men write upon our cenotaphs : “ Traitor and lecher! murderess and whore! ” The rat-faced god that lurks in heaven laughs ; There is rejoicing on the immortal shore. The angels deem us hurled from the above, Burnt out of bliss, blasted from sense and thought, Barred from the beauties of celestial love And branded with the annihilating Naught. O! pallid triumph: empty victory! When we sit smiling on the infernal thrones Starred with our utmost gems of infamy, Builded with tears, and cushioned with the groans Of these the victims of our joys immense — Child! I aspire to that bad eminence! Vil Hell hath no queen! But, o thou red mouth curving In kisses that bring blood, shall I be alone? What of the accomplice of these deeds unswerving? Will not your dead hot hisses match mine own? As here your ardours brand me bone and marrow Biting like fire and poison in my veins, Shall you not there still ply your nameless harrow, Mingle a cup from those our common pains To intoxicate us with an extreme pleasure Keener than life’s, more dolorous than death’s Till these infernal blisses pass the measure Of heaven’s imagined by the tremulous breaths Ot silly saints and silly sinners, swaying From scraps of blasphemy to scraps of praying?