cupid lips drooped. “You know I’ve always been true to you, though I shouldn’t be.”
I laughed. “How could an Angel be anything but true? Unless, of course, she was fucking a devil?”
That earned me a slap that burned for hours.
And so the descent into our own private maelstrom began.
While in the past she had ignored my habit of hanging stray angels on coat hooks in her utility room to bleed poisonous holy salve from their wounds (the blood of an angel was worth a million bribes in hell), now she insisted that I put away my toys before they were fully fruited. She claimed the stench was murdering her meditations.
And I, for my part, took stricter notice of the relics and various translations of the Bible that seemed suddenly to multiply throughout her house. And in taking such notice, I shat upon them.
Uncouth, I know. But even devils have their pride to uphold…or unload.
She answered by spiking my beer with the mead of St. Michael. I nearly choked to death on my first honeyed draught. “Bitch!” I screamed, my throat hissing with holy smoke. The icy broken glass tinkle of laughter shattered from above.
“You should take more care with what you put in your mouth,” she warned.
After that, before I sucked them, I rubbed down her breasts with the effluence of an Etruscan whore I knew from the Carnival. Better safe than sorry. Angel shivered at the pollution, but her distaste still turned to ecstasy when I put my fevered lips to her.
Until the final line was drawn.
“Come to the Dark Carnival with me,” I said. She was frying a snow white fish in the balm of etheria. Angel looked at me with eyes wide and frozen blue, and simply said, “No.”
“Come with me to see where my strength lies,” I begged once more, and she only shrugged.
“Will you step with me into the light of the City?” she said. “Will you kiss the brows of refugees and coddle the concerns of the just with no thought for yourself?”
I admitted that I could not.
She flipped the fish in the invisible grace of its oily etheria.
“Then I cannot accompany you either.”
And so the division was stated.
From there, it only grew combative.
She lined my shorts with the dust of chaste and dowdy Dominican nuns. And I filled her bathtub with the curdled blood of suicidal goth girls.
Our skins prickled at the thought of each other.
No more did our lovemaking bring ecstasy. Now we only brought each other damnation and salvation…the opposite of whatever the other wished.
Her loins joined to mine like the iceberg to the Titanic…without frenzy or favor, just relentlessness…she dragged me down to desperation, just as I burned her saintliness to a hairs-breadth of damnation.
««—»»
I was walking though the barrier of the grey lands, when the messenger found me.
“Devil,” she said, prostrating herself on bloody palms and wounded knees before me.
“Rise,” I instructed, and enjoyed the strangely rolling arc of her eyes, and the wrinkled crimson signature of her broken jaw. Her head and shoulder twitched every few seconds in a catatonic rhythm.
“If you visit the heaven whore again,” she said, “you will live in the wastelands of loss forever.” She hiccoughed, and a stream of blackened blood spattered the ground at my feet.
“And you are?”
“I am Benevi, whore of the last dick-tator.”
“Fuck him,” I suggested, and stepped away.
“Wait,” she begged, clutching at my bony heels. But I did not stay.
I knew, nevertheless, that my time with Angel was almost up. We were at war, hell was upon me for my indiscretion, and the hole in my chest could not widen much farther. Heaven and hell should only come so close.
««—»»
“I bring you the heart of a virgin,” I announced amid the pristine coral white of her bedchamber. In my hand, dripping crimson blood, I did, indeed, hold the naked organ of an earthly innocent.
Angel fainted.
I held the heart above her mouth and squeezed,
I laughed. “How could an Angel be anything but true? Unless, of course, she was fucking a devil?”
That earned me a slap that burned for hours.
And so the descent into our own private maelstrom began.
While in the past she had ignored my habit of hanging stray angels on coat hooks in her utility room to bleed poisonous holy salve from their wounds (the blood of an angel was worth a million bribes in hell), now she insisted that I put away my toys before they were fully fruited. She claimed the stench was murdering her meditations.
And I, for my part, took stricter notice of the relics and various translations of the Bible that seemed suddenly to multiply throughout her house. And in taking such notice, I shat upon them.
Uncouth, I know. But even devils have their pride to uphold…or unload.
She answered by spiking my beer with the mead of St. Michael. I nearly choked to death on my first honeyed draught. “Bitch!” I screamed, my throat hissing with holy smoke. The icy broken glass tinkle of laughter shattered from above.
“You should take more care with what you put in your mouth,” she warned.
After that, before I sucked them, I rubbed down her breasts with the effluence of an Etruscan whore I knew from the Carnival. Better safe than sorry. Angel shivered at the pollution, but her distaste still turned to ecstasy when I put my fevered lips to her.
Until the final line was drawn.
“Come to the Dark Carnival with me,” I said. She was frying a snow white fish in the balm of etheria. Angel looked at me with eyes wide and frozen blue, and simply said, “No.”
“Come with me to see where my strength lies,” I begged once more, and she only shrugged.
“Will you step with me into the light of the City?” she said. “Will you kiss the brows of refugees and coddle the concerns of the just with no thought for yourself?”
I admitted that I could not.
She flipped the fish in the invisible grace of its oily etheria.
“Then I cannot accompany you either.”
And so the division was stated.
From there, it only grew combative.
She lined my shorts with the dust of chaste and dowdy Dominican nuns. And I filled her bathtub with the curdled blood of suicidal goth girls.
Our skins prickled at the thought of each other.
No more did our lovemaking bring ecstasy. Now we only brought each other damnation and salvation…the opposite of whatever the other wished.
Her loins joined to mine like the iceberg to the Titanic…without frenzy or favor, just relentlessness…she dragged me down to desperation, just as I burned her saintliness to a hairs-breadth of damnation.
««—»»
I was walking though the barrier of the grey lands, when the messenger found me.
“Devil,” she said, prostrating herself on bloody palms and wounded knees before me.
“Rise,” I instructed, and enjoyed the strangely rolling arc of her eyes, and the wrinkled crimson signature of her broken jaw. Her head and shoulder twitched every few seconds in a catatonic rhythm.
“If you visit the heaven whore again,” she said, “you will live in the wastelands of loss forever.” She hiccoughed, and a stream of blackened blood spattered the ground at my feet.
“And you are?”
“I am Benevi, whore of the last dick-tator.”
“Fuck him,” I suggested, and stepped away.
“Wait,” she begged, clutching at my bony heels. But I did not stay.
I knew, nevertheless, that my time with Angel was almost up. We were at war, hell was upon me for my indiscretion, and the hole in my chest could not widen much farther. Heaven and hell should only come so close.
««—»»
“I bring you the heart of a virgin,” I announced amid the pristine coral white of her bedchamber. In my hand, dripping crimson blood, I did, indeed, hold the naked organ of an earthly innocent.
Angel fainted.
I held the heart above her mouth and squeezed,
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