Prince Rupert’s Drop

Prince Rupert’s Drop
Erotica by Will Crimson

  • The holidays have robbed me, but at least I’m posting something I almost gave up on. This was originally written as straight prose, rather than free verse, but I was inspired by D.H. Lawrence’s Figs to follow the form, if not the spirit. I don’t think it compares to his. Lawrence’s verse is beautifully evocative, full of sense and sensation, whereas my own doesn’t lend itself to that kind of evocation. I’m going to try again though, and the next will do better. Enjoy.

·
·

one night
she dreamed she walked on dusty roads.
winged creatures
descended and broke
through
the fall of black leaves and the black branches of trees and

their wings
were like shattered glass.
don’t hurt me!
she cried
and they held her without hurting her though their wings
were like knives.

600px-Rosace_cathedrale_strasbourgone flew above and another
below.
their scissor-sharp
fingers snipped her clothing little by little —
shards
circling below her on roofs, fields, or in the limbs of trees.

she was open for anyone to see
though
only boys saw her
who, until they become men, lie on their backs
at night
awaiting the angel whose wings will shiver and burst descending.

she
desired an answer.
her cry
longing for an unknown heft
able
to return and anchor her weightless center to earth and season

but
they brought her to a roofless abbey
above
grass and wildflower;
where cocoons shaped by
the contours of hips and breasts hung from vaulting stone.

cocoons
spun from light cast through their wings.
she hung
upside down by her ankles;
and her toes,
then feet, then calves and thighs were turned inside their silk.

a clear drop slips out
of her —
a terrible, strange and pleasurable surrender —
down
her belly, breasts, and to the tip
of her tongue, thrust out and downward, coiling like her spine.

the drop
is like glass whose iridescent
bulb grows larger, rounder and heavier
until
it is picked
carefully, like a fruit is picked, from the tip of her tongue.

the cocoon
en-
closed her neck and eyes
until
the pendulum of hips and breasts were all that revealed she was
a girl

and they slowly
pressed
the drop into the body of the cocoon;
into
the only recess —
as small, as subtle, as necessary — remaining and a girl’s;

firmly
into
the rearward lift of her slender
spine —
bent and doubled — and
into her taut and resistant groan until the bulb opened her

suddenly.
and
they left her,
spinning, unable to expel the drop that
gradually
smoothly sank into her womb to settle, there, in inevitable moisture;

and
she dreamed she was
reading about
this
world somewhere in a world
where she
lived — a little girl, a woman, a lover, a mother — and forgot

who
veronika-cocoon-funny-session-newbie-model--fedorov-alexander-63258_3_bigshe had been
until
one day the winged creatures
returned to the abbey and knowing that she was ready to be
freed

took
the tiny
tail —
the wisp of the bulb that still protruded
from
the rearward thrust of her opening — between two fingers

and
snapped it
and the bulb burst inside her and she
inhaled
and the mighty wings of a woman unfolded and burst the cocoon;
she

pulsed
and
inhaled and her arms, legs, and wings spread wide —
and
filled the empty window with the stain of her wings and the colors of her
awakening.

~ William Crimson • December 14 2014

Latest Comments

  1. dragon says:

    It’s beautiful!

  2. Cheongsam says:

    Gorgeous, there’s a rhythm here I love.

  3. ewoman88 says:

    oh man, this was so gorgeous will; well done!

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