Author: Valentyn Smith

Valentyn Smith is an Aquarius, (also a lunar Pisces, and rising Scorpio); which means she was born on February 16th under a full moon and raised in New York City. While she’s clearly partial to zodiac signs, her calling is writing, especially poetry and short stories of prosody. She loves her brilliant Leo son, Harlow; and is dedicating all her works to him. These two cool cats live in Queens as Valentyn studies Creative Writing and English Literature at Hunter College. She is currently off searching the unknown for what comes next.

Web: plus.google.com/110446645301356214648

Medusa’ s suede pudding of taupe toffee
coils thrive in odalisque sighs, echo.
Minor keys, toothily stain with coffee.
Garter gilded thighs open, art deco.

Her sparse brows, tawny bridges, drawn in thin
crayon. Burnt, burgundy gallows crowned
the cartouche of gamblin glyphs, houses gin
slingin’ gorgon-courtesans. Venom bound

to the wicker; bewitching wrists, sylvan
Pianist’ s rosewood saloon. Nude, muse-sick:
in a desert. Hideously; she grins,
riding bare back to her snake-bitten clique:

Raccoon spirited show girls of Old West
taken in boots. Chokers disguise Eve’s pain
-ted stone ladies’ shed molt ruffled bodice.
Statuesque, forgets severed dreams of reign.

Cottonmouth, looks over her cold shoulder.
Cottonmouth has the deadliest smolder.

Invisibles tryst in bayou elms, this place is at the cross

roads. A cabin inn of canoe ruins sunken along a bedlam

of Spanish moss, where undead Mysteres unfurl the indigo

of dragonfly skin & ebony. Loa belles’ brothel dyes their

boudoir drapery of mist. Branches sweep into a loom of

lanterns strung over cypress tree knees cemetery. A cycle,

as the Devourers tend to drums, the will-o-wisp flames’

sway drinks rum with peppered roosters. They are loud,

they are rude, the obscenities shouted all lewd: Howling:

Their guardian’s tale: Roux ga Roux comes: 3 in 1

 

Their guardian’s tale: Roux ga Roux comes: 3 in 1

La Lune slit in two devilled eggs, slips in the Swamp of

Nightfall. Moon-mad maiden: Feet turn to hooves, her talons’

tendrils tread waters. Croons encircle antlers as veins protrude,

robed in angora upon the jackal head’s bone skin hollow ribs.

Scar tissue lips spit silver forked tongue; rose hips flicks fifolet

candelabra. Phosphorus as a Saint, Brigitte breaks seven years

of Lent. Fallen: skin sheds like voodoo. Bathes her curse in

sin’s crimson aureole weds mass spirits, aglow; blanches lilies

in garnet rue, red jasper, mildew. The poetry patroness lost in

the woodsy carnival of wolfish Little Red cards set on the table.

 

the woodsy carnival of wolfish Little Red cards set on the table.

Roux Ga Roux sips a cigar in a garish three piece suit. So, who

dealt the poor beast in? Stitched in lithe limbs, the blamed virgin

of the Loa’s jack-o-lantern keep fell to the psychopomps’ baron

boatmen who anointed the scarlet womyn in chili rum. Hooded,

riding the unknown, she bred writhing canine caribou, O Christ!

The Roux ga Roux, eyeless she-wolf reborn. Threefold

 

The Roux ga Roux, eyeless she-wolf reborn. Threefold

night traveling cartomancer, weeps herself a bloody cloak, prowls

in the bogtrees. Mademoiselle crossed over to a new world to hunt

grandmother, the witch trickster who summoned her from the dead.

Still; the howling Lycan will be, an abbess, lost to sumptuous velocity.