Sexual Reliquary
by LAKE FOWLER
There’s a box in a hole
In grave deeply dug
Under a granite stone
And growing purple daisies
No bones lie within
No worms crawl without
A single image of a heart’s dread lust
Is all that’s lain to rest tonight
He waits in the dark
The shadows slipping under the door
The moon’s pale view
Showing him what he already knows
There’s an altar inside
The glows with its own sallow life
And behind the closed, locked doors
A beat that’s seen but
Can never be heard
No guardian blocks the keyhole
And no demon tempts one near
But he will remember his passion’s wither
When nobody’s left to worship
A god of love has died tonight
But the reliquary is never
Forever empty
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ABOUT LAKE FOWLER:
LAKE FOWLER is unbearably excited to be through with so much traveling. He's
spent the last two years touring the country from coast to coast, border to border, and
has finally found a home in beautiful New Mexico. He spends his days writing fiction
and poetry and recording audio stories for various erotic fiction websites. His story
"Smoke Rings" is forthcoming from the anthology Relationships and Other Stuff and
his reading of the sensual tale "Something Different" is now available on A Woman's
Goodnight's website. He can be reached at LakeFowler@hotmail.com.