Literature
LILITH'S SAVAGE GARDEN
He thought me a simple thing,
too easily broken like the ribs of new grass
that glutton themselves on a baptism of
daylight gorgeously golden, but this baptism
he can keep-I will not let it stain my marrow,
and his name too he can take-for I have my own,
I will not let such plain conventionality
cleave to my breast, an aureole of moonshine
encircles my proud peaks, Passion's palpitating
tirade seeps from the pores of my skin,
and I am she who collects the Stars shining
up my spine, enticing the Dark to give up
her secrets to the sweet feminine scent of
my lotus, oh if only he knew that my witcheries
were a gift-not a curse!
He thought me a w