Demoness --

                    Child of the moonlight, why do you sing so
                    Harshly?  Why play so base a lute?  In truth
                    You play so beautifully that one forgets
                    The instrument's nature;  yet perhaps you
                    Would like to play my golden dulcimer?
                    I should lend it for so small a token
                    As a kiss --
                                 Why do you flee so?  I mean
                    You no distress.  Am I, then, so ghastly?
                    Do you not find me attractive?  Raphael,
                    I long to feel your legs upon my own.

Archangel --

                    My song makes bitter refuge
                    In this, the house of fallen
                    Stars and swollen leprous gods.
                    The very air is pungent
                    With tawny smells.
                                           Ah, Lilith!
                    Your breath is sweet as sunset.
                    Let me welcome your embrace --
                    Your golden pipe shall replace
                    My ruined voice; my tender
                    Throat aches so!  Yet your forked
                    Tongue heals all men's wounds, my love.

                                                         Bill Racicot
                                                wr0o+@andrew.cmu.edu

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