Author: Nancy Iannucci

Nancy Iannucci is a historian who teaches history and lives poetry in Troy, NY. She has always been entranced by the mysticism of life and the fine line that exists between our world and the mystical. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in Three Line Poetry, Red Wolf Journal,  Rose Red Review, Faerie Magazine (FB photography), Yellow Chair Review, Three Drops from a Cauldron, and Mirror Dance. She is currently working on her first chapbook.

Web: www.facebook.com/app_scoped_user_id/10206705560978872

You summon me, the Night,

in my demesne to pierce my heart of darkness!

In prism-dewdrop time, you warm me,

tenderly, with phosphorescent blues

with sirens from the sea; you radiate

melodies in a conspiratorial game and

I am your prey like stupid Mercutio –

you make worms’ meat of me.

 

You kiss me like Judas with lustrous lips

while Nyx looks on paralyzed by your

renewed charms, by your silken hair,

and your radiant eyes. Oh, how I hate you!

What a fool I am! I am like black vinyl

skipping and spinning the same track

under your nail, but your scratch

feels so good on my back as I reenter

 

Your chariot to feel its red velvet seats

bespattered with blackberry mucilage

from prior nocturnal retreats. The roses

you spread at my feet are laden with thorns,

a medieval trap pressed against my knees.

I am a caged beast, a mere pet in your delicate hands,

hands that raise the dawn like Lazarus whilst

I briefly rest inside your soporific snare.